For Better or Worse
by shaeldryn
Summary: Ordered to find the stolen dragon egg, Murtagh instead stumbles upon a strange boy, radically linking their fates by taking him captive. Yet in a world rushing towards war, there is no time for sympathy… Slash/EraMur
1. The only journey is the one within

**Disclaimer:** Everything canon belongs to Christopher Paolini. No money is being made from this story.

**Warning:** Slash. Adult content concerning matters of violent and sexual nature. M for a reason.

**A/Ns: **This is what happens when a "funny" little idea goes wild – and serious. The story is set in Alagaësia, but it's nonetheless AU. While having to twist and change numerous facts, I still tried to stay as true to the feeling of the canon as possible. I'm also aware that a few questions might arise while reading the fic, because at times things are mentioned/referred to in one chapter and explained/resolved only in much later chapters. Moreover, often a larger period of time passes in between two scenes or between chapters. However, for anyone reading closely neither should be a problem.

As for updates: a new chapter every Thursday.

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For me, fanfiction can be defined easily by asking only one question: What if?

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_Italics_:

a) the occasional emphasis

b) flashbacks

c) mind-to-mind communication

d) what I call 'direct' thoughts, usually marked by an "I" or "we" and always present tense

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**The only journey is the one within** **– Rainer Maria Rilke**

**Chapter 1  
**

10th Hay Moon

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Murtagh spurred his horse forward when he heard the first clap of thunder in the distance. "Wait here!" he ordered the two men accompanying him, not once looking back whether they in fact stayed at the bottom of the little hill. He was not disobeyed.

His horse's breath was heavy and its coat was soaked with sweat, yet it changed from trot to canter willingly, carrying its rider towards the crest. Murtagh was all too aware of the state his mount was in, not oblivious of the gadflies devouring it whenever their pace lessened_. A little more,_ he thought, _just a little more, my friend_. He reached down with one gloved hand, petting the neck encouragingly, but was careful to avoid the sticky foam which covered both chest and shoulders. And his trusted companion of many battles hastened on.

He was never disobeyed.

On reaching the bare, treeless top of the hill, he reined in his horse and his mood darkened. Below him endless forest stretched to all directions, thick with undergrowth and littered with massive boulders – an area hard to cross under the best of circumstances. Now, however, the brooding, midday summer heat was about to give way to a major thunderstorm, and Murtagh glowered at the sky ahead, where dark blue and nearly black clouds were approaching rapidly.

They had known for a few hours that the weather would be changing soon, had watched the swallows dive deep for insects, and had suffered from sultriness so intense that after a while they had run out of curses to insult the weather god. However, Murtagh had not expected a storm of the extend that was unfolding in front of his eyes. Despite being drenched in sweat, he suddenly felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, as if they were warning him of unknown dangers. _We can't change directions nor take a break!_ Growling quietly, he accepted the inevitable.

He turned his horse around and galloped back downhill. "Hurry!" he called to the two soldiers waiting. "It won't be long anymore before all hell breaks lose."

It turned out worse than they had expected.

At first they even welcomed the rain, which cooled them down and washed them clean. But after a while the riders got cold and soon freezing, and their horses detested the rain pattering on their heads. And instead of feeling protected from the strong gusts of wind in the midst of the forest, Murtagh was also immensely worried of being slain by a falling branch, as he had witnessed a not so small tree giving in to the storm and come crashing down. Yet he had not heard a single thing over the noise, so now he was constantly looking up, scanning the trees, and not trusting his hearing anymore. His horse would find a way on its own through the thick forest.

"Murtagh, sir!"

Murtagh's head snapped back when he heard Grimgald over the howling of the wind and in between two thunderclaps.

"This is madness!" Grimgald yelled, making a gesture which included himself, the young man riding close at his side, and their surroundings, but carefully leaving out his lord. "It's not a storm, but a curse!"

Murtagh brushed a strand of dark, wet hair from his face, acutely aware of the cold in his fingers. _How is it possible for the rain to be so icy after so many hot days?_ He rode closer to his companions and scrutinized Grimgald for a moment, noticing that his sergeant was wrapped tightly in his cloak, only the hand holding the reins showing. Then his gaze fell on the other person, Marus, who was staring down at the ground, looking thoroughly miserable. "Marus, what do you think?" Murtagh felt himself agreeing with Grimgald already, but he would never admit to it if the boy said something different.

Said young man flinched and looked up, though avoiding Murtagh's eyes. "Milord? I… I don't know."

Murtagh cocked his head and flicked his tongue – whether about the answer or the fact that the young man was so obviously afraid of him, he did not know. "Shall we go on or not?"

Marus glanced at Grimgald, hoping for support, but the older man stared ahead into nowhere. "I-I think tha-that…" He paused and licked his lips. "I think that maybe we should rest a little, milord." His eyes suddenly darted to those of Murtagh before he blushed and quickly looked away again.

Murtagh hesitated only a moment longer before nodding his head and urging his horse to move. Their pace was now ridiculous in any case, thus waiting for the storm to end might truly be the best they could do.

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Even though evening must have still been far off, it was dark as night outside and Murtagh was staring into the fire that he had lit with magic, a source of both warmth and light.

He was sitting on bare ground beneath a roof of huge granite rocks, which also formed two of the three sides of what looked like a makeshift home of giants. He saw the others' silhouettes on the opposite side of the fire, their chests moving ever so slightly, sleeping despite being almost completely wet. He could smell the horses somewhere behind him and knew they had huddled close together for comfort and warmth, as the cold rain was still pouring and every few seconds flashes briefly lit up the world.

He knew he had asked a lot of all of them in the past days, but hardship was necessary in times like these and they were not yet at the end of their journey. However, although he urgently needed to rest, too, it was what he had seen in Marus' eyes earlier that kept him awake. The young soldier had been mortified. Due to the weather, true, but more so due to him, Murtagh.

Murtagh expected respect and obedience from his men, aspects necessary for all of them to survive. He trained them for battle and led them to war, and, though he was young still, he was good at both – if his men fought as he told them to, their losses were few. Along the way, their successes on the battlefields increased not only their own reputation and power, but also Murtagh's. It was about giving and taking.

His men, out of respect but also out of loyalty towards his house, saw him safe, not only when they were surrounded by enemies, but even more so when surrounded by allies. The king Galbatorix, Murtagh knew, did not trust him as he had trusted his father – in these chaotic days even less than previously. For Murtagh, though, this was no reason for grief.

Ever since his father had died, he had tried hard not to become like the cruel man he remembered, and he had thought he was doing a decent job of it… until today. True, he was dangerous, yet he had always made a point to be different towards his men.

He had immediately recognized the look in Marus' eyes, having seen it a thousand times when people were crouching in front of his father, still seeing it when people were around Galbatorix. He knew what the boy must have felt, as he had grown up feeling the same.

The longer he thought about it, the worse Murtagh felt. Even Grimgald, he realized, was not speaking his thoughts anymore. Grimgald, who had seen Murtagh go from infant to man, who – besides Tornac, who Murtagh still held in highest regards, and others – had trained him to become who he was today. Perhaps the sergeant would never go back to calling him 'milord', staying with the somewhat more familiar 'sir', yet other parts of the older man's behaviour had definitely changed over the past year.

Murtagh swallowed hard, forgetting all about the cold, only noticing the lump in his stomach. _What else have I missed?_ With a shock he recalled how others had reacted to him the last time he had been among people familiar to him. They had been terrified. _Why have I never noticed?_ Or had he simply not cared? Had he really transformed so much now that he was a Rider, Galbatorix' most powerful servant, in rank above all except the king himself? Because it now dawned on him that the one thing he had never wanted to happen was in the process of becoming true: he was turning into the person he hated most, he was growing into a man resembling his father.

His father who had never cared.

_Murtagh's eyes were watering and he angrily tried to blink the tears away. __However, he could not help clutching both hands to his belly in an attempt to lessen the dull pain. _

"_Get up already!" Morzan casually sank back on his chair as if he had not just beaten the other to the ground or kicked him in the stomach. "Don't be such a weakling!"_

_An odd mix of fear and fury was surging through Murtagh's veins and he slowly pushed himself into a kneeling position. But when he tried to stand up, he learned that his legs would not yet carry him._

"_What a shame!" Morzan spat to the ground, missing Murtagh only by inches. "Look at you!"_

_With a few swift strides and ignoring the irate stare from his lord, Tornac moved to Murtagh's side, grabbed one of his arms and pulled him up. "You're now ten years old," he whispered urgently so that only Murtagh could hear. "You can take it. Don't get mad – you know how dangerous that would be."_

_Murtagh ground his teeth and gave his trainer a nearly imperceptible nod__. "Let me go, I can walk." When Tornac obeyed, Murtagh looked at Morzan. "Milord." He bowed, turned around and staggered away. _

_Never again would he remind his father of his __birthday._

More than angry with himself, Murtagh slammed a fist to the floor. _What has happened to the values and virtues that Tornac taught me and that I swore to honour all my life? _

He thought about it for a while, but his mind stayed blank. He did not know. He simply did not know. Only one thing was certain: his behaviour had degraded ever since Thorn had hatched for him. This was the most puzzling of it all, as Murtagh always considered his red dragon the best part of his life. _Through Thorn, I gained immense power. What if that triggered this blasted part of Morzan's heritage? _He sighed and closed his eyes, whishing the huge creature near, needing to discuss this with the only one left that he could truly talk to. Be it as it was, though, Murtagh had to deal with the situation himself.

Still staring into the fire, he eventually made a silent vow to fight the monster he was becoming, to start proving himself a worthy man for others to die for, and, most of all, to attack the fear in Marus' eyes. He vowed to begin right then and there, but once he had decided, his spirit lifted as it always did when a plan was made, and his consciousness gave way to exhaustion.

Within minutes he was fast asleep, ignoring the thunder and the storm, and also seeing nothing of the unusually bright flash outside. A flash that was neither white nor lasting only an instant, but instead it lasted moments and was of a sapphire blue, the colour of the stolen egg…

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Murtagh woke with a start, noticing right away that all was quiet except the occasional snort of a horse and some chirping birds. For a moment he looked out at the world in wonder, for it seemed as if the gods had stepped down and had turned this patch of earth into their playground, leaving nothing unchanged. _We must have spent the night at the center of the storm!_ He took in how a good deal of the large, old trees around their shelter was not standing anymore, instead littering the forest floor as partly insuperable obstacles. Those trees still standing were not able to hold back the bright, early morning sun from sending its rays down to the ground. The air was fresh and clean and once again held the promise of warming up later.

He blinked, realizing how long he must have slept. Only his surroundings had changed, he reminded himself, nothing else. Somewhere else in Alagaësia the king would be waking up, too, and would still be raging about the loss of one of his precious two eggs. And elsewhere his enemies would be celebrating their greatest victory yet.

Elves, Murtagh suspected, had managed to steal the egg, which is why he had chosen his horse and not his dragon for the trip to the north. This way, he could spend some time in Du Weldenvarden practically unnoticed, although his hopes to learn something this far in the west of the forest had been small from the start. And indeed he had not seen a single elf, so he was eager to get to Ceunon, to learn whether the treacherous trader Jeod was involved in the theft. In the city, he was expecting to meet a spy, someone who would not stay long and might also sell his knowledge to the highest bidder if Murtagh was not around soon to pay him off. Thus, he should not delay.

He heard the low murmurs of Grimgald and Marus talking among each other and his anger was rising. _Why haven't they woken me?_ _They know that this mission is urgent. How dare-_ Suddenly Murtagh remembered his musings from the day before and tried to calm his emotions. Grimgald had said for days that Murtagh needed rest, so not waking him had probably been done with the best of intentions.

Cursing under his breath about his stiff muscles, Murtagh slowly sat up. "Morning."

The soldiers had had their backs to him and had been sitting on a fallen log, but now both jumped up and turned around. "Good morning, milord!" Marus hurried to respond, while Grimgald only watched Murtagh warily, apparently all too aware that the storm had ended hours ago and that they could have been moving again already.

Murtagh got up, buckled his long sword at his side and fastened the smaller blade across his back, and headed for his horse's saddle, lifting it off the ground with a grunt. "We should get going," was the friendliest thing he could produce.

A good three hours later they had not yet covered much distance. The slippery ground forced them to go at a snail's pace, either riding around the barriers formed by fallen trees, or Murtagh lifted them with magic and moved them out of their way. However, he was not too fond of this, as he had been suspecting for a while that using magic left traces behind, traces for other magic users to detect. It was unlikely that anyone besides the three of them would soon pass through this remote, wild area, yet he did not want to give up on the recently begun habit of using as little magic as possible. Unless in battle, of course, but there, due to Thorn, his presence was obvious anyways.

Murtagh was leading the way, munching quietly on some stale bread and salt meat, allowing himself to dream about what he would have for first meal in one of his castles. His mind was still on fruits and fresh, white rolls, when his eyes caught sight of something that had him pull his horse to an abrupt stop. "Grimgald! What do you see over there to the right, underneath the large oak?"

Grimgald closed the gap on Murtagh for a better look. "Lots of fallen down branches, sir, though one of them has a strange colour…" Suddenly he drew in a sharp breath and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "It's a leg! There's a leg underneath that one large bough!"

_So there __is nothing wrong with my vision._ "There's probably a person connected to that leg, Grimgald," Murtagh unconsciously corrected right away. Jumping off his horse he drew Zar'roc, the larger of his swords, wishing that indeed his eyes had only played a trick on him. _But if Grimgald sees it, too… _

He neared the leg cautiously and sure enough, the closer he came, the more he saw of someone on the other side of the big branch. It was not an elf, as a part of his mind had suspected, basing it on an odd vibe coming from the person. Instead it was a human boy or young man, lying motionless, blond hair and the rest of the body covered partly in mud. The person was fixed to the ground by the large bough on his hip and thighs. The only piece of clothing Murtagh could discern was some odd, tight-fitting sort of undergarments that was partly showing.

"It's a human boy," he said loud enough for the others to hear.

Marus fidgeted in his saddle, trying to get a better look, not daring to come close unasked for. But curiosity made him braver than usual. "Is he alive, milord?"

"I don't know," Murtagh replied, coming to a stop next to the leg and poking at it with his blade. No reaction. He poked harder, drawing some blood, but still the boy did not move. Suddenly Grimgald and Marus were at his side, and Murtagh only nodded to his sergeant before all three put their hands to the bough, heaving it off the body. It was heavy, yet not as heavy as Murtagh had expected it to be, and he figured that it could not have caused too much damage.

Murtagh pushed the boy not too gently with his foot, turning him first on his side and then on his back. An oval face appeared, finely chiselled, with high cheekbones. _Rather handsome,_ Murtagh thought, noticing a partly open mouth sucking in air in a steady rhythm. "Alive, but unconscious," he said superfluously. He put his sword back in his sheath and went down on one knee next to the boy… or was he really? Murtagh found himself unable to guess the age. "I wonder… Grimgald! Marus! Check the surroundings. See if you find other people, a horse, clothes, anything."

The men nodded and left, leaving Murtagh to stare at the person at his side. "Who might you be?" he murmured, thinking quickly. As far as he knew, this area was uninhabited save for a few outlaws maybe. Yet this youth could not be one of them: no scars whatsoever were showing and someone with so little muscle would be heavily scarred – if he survived at all – living among them. It was a world where only the strongest lived.

_A runaway slave __perhaps?_ Murtagh checked the body for brandings, turning it around again in the process, a bit more gently this time. He saw none, so he finally pulled down that strange loincloth, wondering at its elasticity, ensuring that no one had left his mark there, either. Instead, he found the hip badly bruised in varying shades from purple to black and he fleetingly touched it, probing for damaged bones. As far as he could tell, there were none.

He pushed the boy on his backside yet another time and inspected the front of the hip, smirking to himself when he saw that it was indeed only bruises, everything else was fine. He pulled the piece of clothing up again and pushed himself upwards, slowly circling the boy. _A pleasure slave perhaps?_ They were often not branded so as to not mar their looks, and this one fulfilled all the prerequisites normally sought for: he was slender and lean, quite opposite to the muscular soldiers Murtagh was usually surrounded with, and he had a beautiful, faultless skin, although at the moments it was dirty and there were some scratches next to the bruises, too. Murtagh studied the face once more, noticing the long eyelashes and soft lips. _Pleasure slave, definitely_. He wondered about the eye colour and had just decided on trying to wake the boy when his men returned, shaking their heads.

"Nothing, sir," Grimgald reported. "No traces of any other human being, or of him having carried anything except himself." Now all three of them stood around the figure on the ground, staring down at it. "What do you think, sir? A messenger?"

"A naked messenger?" Murtagh asked sceptically, yet inwardly he scolded himself an idiot. It was very well possible, because messengers were indeed the only humans passing this area on a regular basis. Especially those of Galbatorix, for the king was good in choosing some that were hard to identify. _So why not this boy?_ Murtagh's interest was now fully aroused. What message had the king sent out that he did not know about? "Possible, though," he conceded and crouched again to lightly slap the boy's face. "Wake up!"

Nothing happened.

Murtagh slapped him again, but the boy only stirred, no more.

Ordering his men to carry the body over to a mossy spot a few yards away and prop him up against a tree, Murtagh unfastened his cloak, which was somewhat waterproof, folded it twice, and walked to a puddle of water to fetch some of it. He hurried back and emptied the provisional large bowl into the face of the boy, and sure enough, the latter started to snort. Murtagh pushed the utterly fascinated Marus away and told him to make camp.

"Sir…" Grimgald began tentatively. "Should we not move on? I mean, we must hurry if-"

"No!" Murtagh cut him short. "We must nothing." He had just made up his mind that if he wanted to be unlike his father, he should also quit following every single one of Galbatorix' orders as if they were his own heart's deepest wish. The king wanted news? He had to wait until Murtagh delivered them. He was far too interested in the strange person in front of him, and even more interested in the message he might be carrying. "We'll stay for a while. I want to talk to this one."

Grimgald nodded and retreated, helping his young comrade unsaddling the horses.

The eyelids of the boy fluttered but did not yet open, and Murtagh decided to slap him once more, convinced that after the water it was all that was needed.

He was right.

After a moment, he found himself looking into eyes that were slowly opening the more the boy regained consciousness. Azure, Murtagh noted. _Pretty_.

Suddenly the eyes were torn wide open in shock and the youth yelled in fear, trying to scramble away. Murtagh was faster, though, and had both hands on the other's shoulders, holding him in place. The boy struggled for a moment helplessly, uttering hostile sounds unknown to Murtagh, and then stilled, body tense and face alert.

Murtagh lessened his grip on the shoulders and held eye contact. "Who are you?" he asked sternly, but not unfriendly. This was the perfect situation for him to prove – mainly to himself – that he was not Morzan, that he was different.

The boy glared at him some more and answered. Or rather, there was a flood of sounds coming from his mouth, very harsh sounds, of which Murtagh understood not one word.

"Quiet!" he ordered, but was completely ignored. The tirade of whatever it was that the other was saying continued, and all of a sudden Murtagh felt a strong, well-aimed kick into his groin and he fell backward, cursing loudly. The boy struggled to his feet, but when he made the first step, he toppled down like a sack of flour, whimpering in pain. "Serves you right!" Murtagh growled, waving away both Grimgald and Marus who had positioned themselves to stop the youth. He could handle this very well himself.

His face an iron mask despite the pain that was close to laming him, he carefully stood up and walked over to the boy, who was lying on his side, hands clutched to his hip, panting. Murtagh drew his sword, which caused the younger one to look up. He placed the tip at the blond's throat, enjoying how the defiance in the fierce blue eyes quickly changed to fright. "So, you speak some other language, eh? And want to make me believe you don't speak the common tongue?" Sword made contact with skin, and fright turned into mortal fear. "Let's see whether Zar'roc can make you reconsider…"

The boy was frozen, his breathing shallow and rapid. He made no sound.

Murtagh sighed and rammed his sword into the ground right next to the head of the youth. He saw the other flinch and then shiver uncontrollably, but all he felt was annoyance. _Can't I, for once, run into someone who doesn't need torture before he speaks?_ He swiftly crouched and drew his dagger to replace the sword at the throat, then brought his face close to the other's, scrutinizing him.

"So," he hissed, but then changed his mind, speaking the next words clearly and slowly. "I will make this easy for you. You only have to answer with yes or no." He slowed his speaking pace even more, pronouncing every word distinctively. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The boy continued to watch him with terror in his eyes, but did not react in any other way.

With a sigh Murtagh shook his head. There had been nothing to read in the other's gaze, not the faintest hint of recognition. He began to accept the nearly unbelievable: he was truly not understood. _Or maybe he is deaf?_ The boy had talked, true, but perhaps he had only lip read and had guessed that it was his turn to answer? Murtagh flipped his fingers in close proximity to the youth's left ear, keeping his hand out of eyesight. The boy winced and immediately turned his head in the right direction, displaying that there was nothing wrong with his hearing.

Murtagh mulled over this for a while. Never had he encountered someone like this. People unwilling to speak, certainly, and people unable to speak, too, but he had found ways to communicate even with those that had previously lost their tongues.

"Sir?"

Murtagh sheathed his dagger and moved away from the boy, who did not dare to move. "Speak!" He was in desperate need of a good idea.

Grimgald cleared his throat. "It looks like he truly doesn't understand you, sir."

"I think so, too."

"Do you still want to talk to him?"

Again aware of the state of undress and vulnerability of the pretty little thing at his feet, Murtagh smirked. "More than ever."

"Well," Grimgald began carefully, "he's like a child then, is he not? My… my sister has children, and I always started my first conversations with them by introducing myself. Maybe he has heard of your name, sir."

_But your sister's children have grown up with our language,_ Murtagh thought, _although introducing might truly be a good thing._ "Maybe…" He sat down cross-legged and motioned for the boy to do likewise. When he heard him moan quietly he made a mental note to check the hip more closely later. There had to be more than only the bruises.

When the strange boy was finally sitting, Murtagh held his own hands in front of him, palms face up, hoping to get across that he did not mean any harm - at least at the moment. Then he pointed at himself and said slowly and audibly, "Murtagh."

The boy, whose azure stare had never once left Murtagh, scowled at him, before breaking anew into an outburst of sound. It still sounded hostile and now Murtagh's name was somewhere in the mix, too.

Grimgald chuckled involuntarily, which earned him a shocked look from Marus. "Looks like his fear is gone and he's angry again, sir."

Murtagh ignored his sergeant and instead gave the youth a likewise hostile stare as answer, because he was most definitely being insulted. Then he pointed at the boy. "In case you didn't know, what I want is _your_ name."

The boy snorted before looking away for the first time in a while. Then he said something, quietly but without hesitation, and this time it consisted only of a few syllables.

"A-Arargon?" Murtagh tried.

The youth looked back and shook his head. "_E-ra-gon_. Eragon."

Murtagh only nodded. He pointed at himself again and gave the other a questioning look.

Eragon rolled his eyes. "Murtagh." He added something incomprehensible.

Murtagh's eyebrows shot up. The pronunciation had been perfect, but there had been no sign of recognition. He thought for a moment, then raised both hands again, presenting first all ten fingers, made fists, then showed nine. "Murtagh is nineteen." He felt like an idiot.

"_Isnain-teen_." Eragon repeated, making the exact same hand movements, before understanding dawned on his face. "Eragon," he said and held up his hands twice, one time showing ten, the other time showing six fingers. He explained something in his language, but for Murtagh is was once again only a rush of sounds.

"Sixteen. Eragon is… sixteen?" Murtagh frowned.

"That is impossible!" Marus exclaimed, before hurrying to add, "Milord."

Murtagh agreed with a nod. "This can't be. He can't be a man yet." He made a stern face at Eragon before pointing at himself again and saying slowly and carefully: "Murtagh is nineteen. Eragon is…?"

Eragon had apparently noticed their disbelief and was now looking bewildered. He held up his hands again and repeated what he had heard Murtagh say: "Eragon is… _six-teen_."

Murtagh shook his head. "Eragon can't be sixteen. Eragon no sixteen."

Eragon asked something, one word, and Murtagh was sure it meant 'why'.

"Because…" He looked around and saw Marus, so he waved him close. "Marus," he said, pointing at him. "Marus is sixteen."

Eragon was watching with an expectant frown on his forehead. "Marus is sixteen. Eragon is sixteen."

"But Marus is _tall_," Murtagh exaggerated Marus' height with one hand, "and _broad_," he demonstrated the span of Marus' shoulders with both hands, "and _strong_." Marus shoved up one sleeve of his shirt and flexed his arm, his muscles creating an impressive bulk. Murtagh looked at Eragon, waiting to see whether he had understood the arguments.

Eragon nodded, said something, then shook his head. "Eragon is… tall." He tried to push himself upright, but staggered when he was halfway straight. One of his hands immediately reached out in Murtagh's direction.

Initially stunned by this untypical sign of trust, Murtagh acted out of reflex and stepped close to offer his shoulder as support. However, he paid close and cautious attention to see whether the other would try to reach for his weapons or attack him in any other way. Yet Eragon was concentrated solely on standing upright, pain showing in his face.

Once he was standing, Eragon's breathing became even and Murtagh and both his soldiers were surprised to see that the boy was indeed tall, only an inch or so shorter than Murtagh and slightly taller than Marus. Grimgald whistled approvingly while Eragon threw Murtagh a daunting glance. "Eragon _is _tall. Sixteen!"

Murtagh confirmed it with a shrug. "Eragon is sixteen." The last minutes had shown him that the youth was by no means stupid, quite the opposite, actually, so he was eventually ready to accept the age. "And Eragon is hurt. Pain." He pointed at the other's hip where the bruises were showing over the waistband of… whatever it was that he was wearing.

Eragon looked in the indicated direction and up at Murtagh again. "_Heard_?"

"_Hurt_," Murtagh corrected and pinched Eragon's arm without warning. "Pain."

Eragon slapped the hand away and glowered at him. "No!"

Murtagh sighed, slowly losing his patience. He was being nicer than he had been in months, if not years, but this was taking far longer than he had intended it to and they could not rest forever. However, he was also not willing to let go of Eragon, so he decided to postpone the amiable way of conversation and do what was necessary. "Grimgald! Marus! I want to check on his hip, hold him down!" He quickly grabbed the youth and threw him off balance, though he did not let go, ensuring that the other did not fall too harshly.

The second Eragon made contact with the ground the two soldiers pinned him down effortlessly, Grimgald taking the arms and Marus sitting on the legs. Murtagh undressed the boy once more and started working. Eragon's hip was indeedpartially fractured, something Murtagh must have overlooked earlier, so he increased the pace of the healing process in the knowledge that the pain would subside throughout the day and following night.

Soon they were moving again, with Murtagh riding ahead, lost in thought. Behind him rode Marus, and the rear was formed by Grimgald and their 'guest'. The only spare item of clothing that they had come up with had been a second pair of trousers from Marus, which were full of holes and worn thin, but it was all Marus had except the leather breeches he wore now, so he always carried them around with him.

The trousers were a bit too wide for Eragon, but he had been the only one complaining. And as the day had become warm again, Murtagh had decided that they would worry about anything resembling a shirt later.

He turned around for a moment and watched the sulking youth in front of Grimgald, wondering about the tanned skin on display. There were farmers in the far south whose appearance was similar to Eragon's, farmers that worked outside all day and often took off their shirt due to the heat, but those were a month of travel away. And people born with a darker complexion never had hair this fair and rarely eyes of such a colour... _Nothing about him makes sense, but why do I even bother? He is only a stranger from the side of the road.  
_

However Eragon had ended up in the forest – almost naked, Murtagh reminded himself, smirking – apparently the last thing he had wanted was to accompany them. They had had to pry the boy off a young tree once he had understood that they were about to heave him on top of Grimgald's horse. Once mounted he had continued to struggle, so without further ado, the experienced soldier had bound Eragon's hands and now had an arm securely around his waist, pulling him close. Murtagh knew that Grimgald did not fancy men or boys, yet the two together so closely looked somewhat odd. He found himself pitying Eragon for a moment, as his sergeant stank, especially his breath, but then he quickly dismissed the thought as being foolishly sympathetic.

They rode in almost complete silence for most of the day, only Eragon's occasional mutterings and cussing in his strange language could be heard. Murtagh listened intently, telling himself that he was trying to catch something that sounded familiar, but in truth he found himself strangely drawn to the youth's voice. Yet he did not feel like starting another attempt at conversation.

When the sun began to set, Murtagh halted his horse. "Enough for today. The boy's been squirming for a while, if I'm not mistaken. Let's allow him to rest. Doesn't look like he's used to riding."

"Yes, sir." The two soldiers exchanged a wondering look before dismounting, Marus taking the reins of Murtagh's stallion. Grimgald pulled the boy down after him, simply leaving him standing and glaring at him, pointing at the ground. "Stay!"

Observing that Eragon understood the order, Murtagh wondered why he did not stop squirming, which looked funny as his hands were still tied on his back. He walked over to him, trying to solve the new riddle. "What?" It was the only way that came to his mind to ask for the problem in simple terms.

Eragon looked at him entreatingly, making odd walking movements on the spot.

Convinced that he was missing some important point, Murtagh removed one glove, reaching out to touch the naked torso to try to detect something with magic. But before he made contact, Eragon moved forward and rubbed his hip against Murtagh's for a moment, head flushed crimson.

Murtagh froze, utterly perplexed. He would have instantly beaten the other down for this behaviour had it not been for Eragon's attractiveness. Then it finally dawned on him. "You need to pee? _Pee_?" They had given Eragon water to drink earlier, but no one had thought of letting him urinate. Murtagh quickly unfastened the rope binding Eragon's hands and the boy managed exactly one step away from him before he tore down his trousers and found relief.

Murtagh chuckled quietly, ignoring the strange looks this earned him from his men. _That boy is amusing!_ He stayed and waited until Eragon was done, then beckoned him to follow, which the younger hesitantly did.

The soldiers were done looking after the horses and had just started a little fire. Marus was sharpening the tips of the long twigs he had gathered, while Grimgald produced some meat to roast from his saddlebags. Murtagh sat down next to them and noticed Eragon do the same, but the boy did so some distance away from all three, eyeing them grumpily.

"Sir," Grimgald began, "we can't take him to town with us."

"It's three more days to Ceunon. I'll think of something."

"Teach him our language, milord?" Marus shifted closer to Eragon, again scanning him with fascination as he had done so often that day. Eragon felt visibly uncomfortable under the stare and folded his arms over his chest, covering the naked skin there with other naked skin.

"In three days?" Murtagh snorted. "Three month would be too short for that." He studied the youth some more, too. _Lean indeed,_ he confirmed his first observations, _but holding the promise for more._ _His muscles are toned, actually, simply not so prominent, and some decent practice with a sword could broaden the small of his back…_ "Nah, first of all I must find out where his alliance lies and what he has been in the forest for."

"With only those three words that he knows, sir?" Grimgald asked sceptically.

Murtagh threw him a sharp glance, unused to being questioned, then remembered his vow. "I guess not… But who knows?"

Grimgald shook his head and chuckled quietly. "Perhaps there will be a solution presenting itself in the morning. There is something odd about this forest, so much is for sure. Just where else in this world does it rain young lads?"

Murtagh snorted in amusement. "Hey, Eragon." The expressive eyes were once again on him. "Hungry?"

Eragon shrugged and said something in a resigned tone.

When he poked the meat at the end of his stick, Murtagh found it eatable, so he cut down a slice and handed it to Eragon. "Here, food. You have to eat."

Eragon had paid attention but shook his head in confusion. He took the meat and held it up, looking at Murtagh inquiringly.

"Food. Meat." Murtagh reached for a saddlebag to fetch some bread and cheese, included all with one gesture and repeated, "_Food._" Then he pointed at the meat and again said its name. To his astonishment, Eragon understood right away, repeating after him before pointing at the bread and cheese individually, wanting to hear their names, too. Finally he nodded his head and began to eat, yet he stopped right after the first bite, pointing at the meat and bowing his head to Murtagh, while there was again an unspoken question in his eyes. "Thank you," Murtagh said slowly.

"_Than-kyou_," Eragon repeated softly, looking anything but happy.


	2. To bear is to conquer our fate

**A/N: **Has anyone actually guessed what's going on? According to the reviews: not really. I think I should prepare you, then...

This chapter reveals a lot about Eragon – just as the last (hopefully) told you something about Murtagh – so that afterwards I am able to consider my protagonists as 'introduced'. And yes, I am perfectly aware that I'm working with a cliché here. But I'm also sure you'll find it to be _very_ different from the standard Mary-Sue version, and I don't mean different just because there is no Sue, but also because it's not the main focus of the story.

Keep in mind, though, that only you, as a reader, find out about Eragon's background in this chapter. Murtagh can't claim the same.

By the way, as I want Selena to be Murtagh's mother, I decided on Marian for Eragon's – after all, in the book she took his mother's stead when he was but a child.

* * *

**To bear is to conquer our fate - Thomas Campbell**

**Chapter 2**

July 10th

* * *

Eragon was chewing on the piece of meat and hard bread without much appetite, but his stomach was screaming for food, and as his body was aching all over already, he tried to calm at least this part of it. He did not exactly know what was wrong with his hip, but it sure felt as if a car had run over it. _A tree,_ he corrected himself quickly, _a tree fell on me. I've indeed been buried beneath something heavy._ Fortunately the pain was subsiding.

So far, so good. Everything else was completely beyond his grasp.

For a short moment after he had regained his consciousness, he had thought that he must have run into participants of a medieval convention in the park. As soon as he had understood, though, that he in fact understood nothing of their language, this idea had started to crumble. And then all of a sudden this guy named Murtagh, who he was now sure was the leader of the group, had placed this incredible _sharp_ and _real_ sword at his throat, a clear threat in his face and voice. That was when Eragon knew that something had gone amiss. Terribly amiss.

Wishing firmly that all the movies he had watched had been right in at least some points, he had decided to do everything not to anger the person that was so obviously overpowering him and that seemed to have laid some claim on him, too. What kind of claim that was Eragon did not want to think about.

He had been surprised that no one had believed his age, although they had just established some sort of communication. Murtagh and that guy Marus had then shown him that they considered him too small and too weak to be sixteen, which had angered Eragon for a moment – until he had taken a closer look at the other people. Marus, who was supposedly sixteen, too, looked like a young bull and definitely older. And Murtagh, at nineteen, looked… well, not _old_, but incredibly mature. Still, Eragon was glad that the age matter was resolved now.

He sighed and took another bite. No one was talking, although he was sure that Marus and the man the others called Grimgald would like to do so. Yet the group dynamics between the three had been clear to him quickly, and therefore he thought that they simply did not dare to start a conversation. It was Murtagh who was in complete control. And watching him.

When Eragon glanced around shyly, he found that indeed all three were watching him. _Great!_ He wished that it was a bit more normal for them to find almost naked people in the forest. _Stop gaping! _At least he was wearing some pants now, albeit strange ones. A hysterical giggle was forming in his throat and he fought hard to suppress it. _Why, oh why, did I have to tan of all things the moment the storm came and my life was turned upside down? Could God, or fate, or the FBI, or whoever is responsible for this not at least have picked a time when I was decently dressed?_ Now he was not only being stared at but also bare from the waist upwards.

Worrying about such trivial things as clothing did by no means mean that he was accepting the strange circumstances he was in. The _reality_ he was in. Because, Eragon repeated in his thoughts, it was all very real. The men were, the horses were, the weapons were, the plain food was, and, most of all, the fact that he had not seen anything all day that hinted at any form of civilization the way he was used to. Anything that did not reek of _medieval_.

Even if he had _only_ been transported to some place in the Russian taiga – and that was already too much of a possibility for him to accept – things would have been different. And yet. He could not exactly put a finger on it, but he knew for a fact that this was not the Russian taiga.

Looking around once more, his eyes met the hazel ones of Murtagh and he quickly cast his glance down, but the curious stare of the other was burning in his memory. Murtagh was unlike any person Eragon had ever met. He was tall, for one, standing at nearly six foot two, and broad-shouldered. Not for one second had Eragon doubted that the huge weapon which the older one was handling with such ease did in fact weigh quite a lot. As a matter of fact, Murtagh was very familiar with all his weapons, and also with his horse, and most of all with being in command.

All day, with his hands tied behind his back and a stinking albeit not unfriendly Grimgald behind him, Eragon had watched Murtagh ride in front. He did not know what to make of him. This morning had shown that Murtagh was better not to be angered, as he was quick to draw a weapon and looked ready to make use of it, too, if need be. Plus, the other two men were more or less afraid of him, Eragon thought. But still, once the men had believed him that he did indeed not understand one word, Murtagh had apparently reached a decision and had been nice enough afterwards. Their 'conversation' had been amiable, although Eragon wished they had talked more, as he was desperate to find out where he was and how he had gotten there. Of the words he already knew, none was of any use.

He heard Murtagh sigh and looked up. The warrior – a title Eragon found befitting – was sitting cross-legged a few yards away from him, his back royally straight. The dark hair fell in lose strands on the fair skin of his face, and he was dressed completely in black. The pants, vest, bracers and the gloves were made of different sorts of leather, the shirt underneath of cotton, the boots of a material unknown to Eragon.

Suddenly a memory flashed through his mind.

"_Look, Eragon! Real silk. __Come, touch it!" Marian stood in front of the pompous array of cloth in the drapery, her eyes shining._

_Eragon smiled and hurried to her side. She had wished for him to come along, and seeing her so happy was definitely worth spending some time on unfamiliar terrain. He reached for the champagne coloured silk. "Oh. Wow!" It was unbelievably soft and smooth._

"_See? Now, look here, this is cotton." _

_Obediently, Eragon touched the next fabric. "Not so wow."_

_Marian__ laughed out loud. "No, you're right. But look here…"_

They had spent over an hour in the drapery, an hour in which Eragon had learned quite a few things about different kinds of cloth, and also an hour filled with laughter. It had been a very pleasant afternoon...

Eragon swallowed hard and turned his attention back to Murtagh to forget the memory. Altogether, strange as it was, the clothing was of a high quality – especially when compared to what the others were wearing and to the thin, crappy piece that covered Eragon's legs. Moreover, the hilts of both Murtagh's swords were richly adorned with gold inlays and gems, supporting the theory of quality and wealth.

He focused on Murtagh's face once more and could not stop his heart beat from accelerating. He had suspected it all day when he had only seen the other's back, but now he knew for sure: his judgement had not failed him this morning – Murtagh was incredible handsome. It had been Eragon's first thought after regaining consciousness, then shock had set in and he had concentrated on other matters, but now he was back at the same conclusion.

_Or maybe my judgement is __failing me big time._ He remembered having read something about the Stockholm syndrome recently, and the longer he thought about it, the more sense it made. He scanned Murtagh again, but still, even in the light of the psychological revelation, the warrior remained strikingly attractive. _Shit!_

Stockholm syndrome referred to hostage situations, Eragon recalled, and he realized that he had no idea what his status was. Prisoner? Hostage? Or, he grimaced, fellow traveller? He made up his mind to find a way to address this, but just when he opened his mouth, Murtagh spoke.

"Marus!"

The deep voice sent a shiver down Eragon's spine. _Stop it_, he told himself. _I never liked Sweden, did I? I won't start now._

Marus flinched and nearly lost the bread he was roasting on the flames. He was quick to answer Murtagh with what Eragon guessed was a title of sorts.

Murtagh said some more, which sounded like an order, and true enough, Marus put his stick away and stood up, though not without hesitating very briefly. He walked over to where he had put his saddle and his few belongings and grabbed his cloak. On his way back to the fire his lips tightened into a thin line, and he was staring straight ahead when he tossed the cloak to Eragon, who took it without thinking, remembering too late that he could have thanked the other. Eragon heard Marus mutter something under his breath, but naturally he did not understand it. However, he was sure that Marus had been complaining and had not wanted to give him the cloak.

Murtagh had apparently heard it, too. He made a very sharp, questioning comment, and Marus answered flippantly and seemingly without thinking, before he pressed a hand to his mouth and froze, looking at Murtagh with eyes widening in fear.

Eragon stopped chewing and watched the scene unfold in front of his eyes. Although it was not cold, he had wrapped the cloak around himself and was feeling oddly protected by it.

His voice now icy and hostile, Murtagh again asked something. When there was no immediate reply from Marus, Grimgald started to speak but was cut short by a sharp word from Murtagh right away. Then a movement caught Eragon's eye and his gaze fell on the twitching ring finger of the warrior's right hand. And when he discovered the smaller of the two swords within reach of said hand, the cloak suddenly did not feel like protection anymore.

Murtagh was talking once more, or rather, he was hissing something, and in a flash he was on his feet and the sword in his hand.

Dropping the food that he had still been holding, Eragon crawled away as swift as his hip allowed him to until he was out of the cone of light. He crouched next to some bushes and turned around to watch what was happening, blood racing in his veins. Neither Grimgald nor Marus had moved, but Murtagh was also still in place, even though he gave the impression that the smallest trigger would set him off. _Just like a tiger before he strikes_.

Sweat was running down Marus' neck, but he soon summoned up courage and moved again. Yet against all Eragon's expectations he made a step _towards_ Murtagh before sinking down on one knee and bowing his head, stuttering something. These two men, Eragon realized, were in no position to oppose Murtagh. They were his. And with great horror he recalled what he had learned in school about disciplinary measures in the Middle Ages.

However, something was keeping the warrior, the tiger, in check. Emotions were struggling on Murtagh's so far impassive face, and his eyes left Marus and came to rest on his hand holding the sword. While he was glowering at it for quite some time it was deadly silent, not even the little fire dared to crackle. Suddenly he threw the weapon away, disgusted, and took one deep breath and sat down again. He spoke to Marus, his voice now calm and quiet, and the clearly relieved youth replied to all that was being said or asked.

In no time the situation loosened up, and as Eragon did not understand a single thing, his mind started wandering.

Soon a thought hit him: stars. He knew how to find the Big Dipper and, subsequently, the polestar. In other words: the firmament spanning earth's sky. Immediately scanning the darkness at hand, he found that it was in fact not dark at all, instead it was littered with thousands of small lights. _Usually the glow of major cities hinders a view like this_, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him, but he ignored it. Still, craning his neck as he might, he did not find what he was looking for. His body turned ice-cold. What did it mean regarding his whereabouts? _Maybe it is just the wrong season? Or maybe the southern hemisphere, or maybe-_

"Eragon!"

Eragon winced and looked back in the direction of the fire. Murtagh was watching him, his face composed again, _handsome_ again. Eragon shook his head. _You do not fool me, stranger_. _I have seen you go from relaxed to enraged within moments twice today._

"Eragon," Murtagh tried once more and added a few other words, waving him near with his hand, which gave a clue to the meaning of what he was saying. When there was no reaction, he turned back to Marus and continued their conversation for a moment.

Eragon was still hesitant to move when Marus got up and returned to his old place next to Grimgald. The older man made a comment and chuckled and Marus even broke into laughter. Murtagh, however, did not laugh, or chuckle, or even smile, and Eragon stayed wary. Eventually the warrior rose to his feet as well and grabbed something that looked suspiciously like a wine skin from a history book. He came close and sat down about a yard away from Eragon, speaking softly and taking a sip, as if to prove that whatever the beverage was, it was palatable.

After a while Eragon extended his hand and silently accepted the skin. Without a thought he took a deep gulp – which ended in a horrible coughing fit. A spark of humour glimmered in Murtagh's eyes while Eragon's were watering, which briefly annoyed him, but then he shrugged and took another, smaller sip. When he thought about it, he was sure that he would never stand a chance against the other, no matter whether he, Eragon, was sober or not. So why not drown his misery in alcohol?

That night Murtagh taught him three more words: brandy, drink, and drunk. Eragon, in turn, told the other no less than his life story, the more he drank, the more detailed the story. After some time and a considerable lighter skin later, he was very grateful to have such a wise and polite listener who never once interrupted him. _Stockholm syndrome or no Stockholm syndrome, at least the guy has manners. But why is he so blurry?_

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Eragon was woken to a brisk, early morning by Murtagh, who simply kicked his leg to get the desired effect. He grunted in protest. "Can you do that a bit less lovingly, please?" He stayed down for a moment, listening to the song of the birds and the occasional snort of one of the horses and watching the pale blue sky through the treetops.

He wondered why in movies, books, and even video games people always woke up oblivious for a moment, realizing only after a while that it had not just been a bad dream, that it was in fact all true. He, on the other hand, was not granted one sweet moment of _not _being aware of the latest events.

In that case, Eragon thought, he could as well get up, especially because Murtagh was waiting for him and he did not seem the guy who liked to be made waiting. He rolled on his stomach and carefully pushed himself up, noticing with relief that his whole middle section hurt a lot less. Instead, his head was swimming – and hurting. With another grunt he finally stood on his feet, pressing a hand to his forehead. _Why is it that I always drink without thinking of the next day? _"What kind of devilish brandy do you guys make? I thought something so basic should be the same everywhere. Not that I'm too familiar with it or anything…"

Murtagh had cocked his head a little but remained quiet and simply turned around, leading the way to a small stream where he crouched down at the grassy riverbank and splashed some water in his face. Eragon did likewise, enjoying the cool liquid. After a moment he got rid of the cloak and dropped to both knees, burying his whole head in the creek, ignoring the picture that formed before his inner eye of how stupid he must be looking. When he emerged again he saw a hint of amusement playing around Murtagh's lips and grinned in response. "Yeah, I know. But I don't have a head of stone like you seemingly do."

After a while Murtagh began to talk. Not in a way indicating that he actually wanted Eragon to understand, no, he was simply talking. He continued washing himself and did not stop speaking, his voice calm and low, not unfriendly; it sounded as if he was explaining something.

Eragon found himself entranced. Never before had the older one said so much, and the sound of it gave Eragon a pleasant feeling in his stomach. _I don't really know anything about Sweden, right?_ _Maybe it isn't too bad… _He knew he should not be feeling like that, but he wanted Murtagh to continue, to make him forget the current situation for a while.

All too soon, Murtagh's tone changed and he was asking for something. Eragon strained his hearing and noticed Murtagh repeating a word several times. "_Ze-younon_?" Eragon tried, shrugging. Murtagh corrected him until he said it correctly – "Ceunon" – but he did so absentmindedly, losing interest, leaving Eragon wondering about the purpose of that word.

When Murtagh readied himself to return to their camp, Eragon decided not to delay matters any longer, even if he wished to linger some more in this peaceful shoulder to shoulder. Wherever he was, however he had gotten here, he did not plan to stay. They had already covered quite some distance from the place where he had been found, and it was exactly there that Eragon wanted to go back to. The question was whether they would let him or whether he was indeed a prisoner. "Murtagh!"

The dark-haired head shot around and Eragon saw surprise. "Aye?"

_Does__ that mean 'yes'?_ Eragon stored the word away before realizing that he had no idea how he could phrase his question with the few words he knew. "Eragon…" he began, and was immediately stuck. _How on earth do survival experts communicate with indigenous people?_ "Eragon…" he started anew, involuntarily stomping his foot, frustrated. He looked at Murtagh, who returned his gaze, frowning, and for a split second there was complete understanding between the two of them, a mutual annoyance about the language obstacle.

"Eragon…" He began one more time, then waved a hand in the air, grimacing. This was impossible. "… Murtagh?" Perhaps the other was a psychic. It would most definitely help.

Murtagh shook his head, snorting. He said something in that strange tongue of his, a rapid mass of sounds, but it needed no translation: he had no idea what Eragon meant.

Eragon groaned and thought hard. "Alright. Look here," he said in English. He showed both index fingers and made a knot. "Eragon… Murtagh?" _God, I don't even know how to say 'and'._

Murtagh gave him an odd look and chuckled somewhat nastily. He said something and shook his head, imitating Eragon with his fingers, but then pointedly un-knotting them again.

His cheeks immediately burning, Eragon guessed that perhaps tying the knot was universally understood. "No!" _Most definitely I did not mean that!_

Murtagh looked at him some longer before eventually turning around and walking away.

"Murtagh!" He had to make him understand, had to ask him. In a last, desperate try, Eragon raised both hands, named one Murtagh and gave the other his own name. Then he made the Murtagh hand walk and let the Eragon hand follow, looking at the real Murtagh questioningly.

Understanding dawned on Murtagh's face and he nodded. "Yes. Eragon," then something, "Murtagh".

"No!" Eragon cried out.

"No?"

"No," Eragon repeated, "Eragon no is… _comin with _Murtagh." He simply imitated what Murtagh had just said, the answer that was exactly what he had not wanted to hear. "Eragon is…" He pointed at himself, then made another walking gesture with his hand, and lastly pointed at a nearby tree.

Murtagh simply shook his head, fingers drumming on his leg. "No. Eragon is coming with Murtagh."

"Shit!" Eragon swallowed hard. So he was indeed not free to go back, the little episode with the rope around his wrists yesterday not merely due to lack of understanding. Gone was all fascination with Murtagh, all possible traces of admiration for his capturer that had been less last night but had returned full force this morning. In fact, all Eragon felt at that moment was a rising anger. _I am a United States citizen, free to go as I like, and I will not let this freshwater warrior guy stop me!_

Encouraged by his thoughts, he glowered at Murtagh and started walking – in the opposite direction of where their camp and the others were. He had no clue where to go, but away from the warrior, so much he knew.

Suddenly he heard it again, that horrible quiet hiss he had come to associate with a sword being drawn, and he began to run. However, after only seconds he felt his wrist being grabbed and he was hurled around, then Murtagh punched him hard in the stomach with the hilt of the sword, cursing.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Eragon twisted behind Grimgald, his stomach still hurting. He was so busy being mad at Murtagh, who was riding in front again, acting as if he had _not_ just hurt him badly, that he was not even disgusted by the older man's stink as he had been the previous day.

Despite all the times in the past twenty-four hours that he had wished to be able to properly talk to these people, he kept his mouth shut all day. If Grimgald or Marus had tried to speak to him, he might have reacted, but whenever Murtagh made one of his rare comments, Eragon turned his head away.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

The next morning felt different, but it took Eragon a moment to find out why. Once fully awake, he noticed that the others were restless, making haste, and breakfast was apparently postponed. Eragon's anger had subdued noticeably, replaced partly by sadness. During the long, quiet hours yesterday he had begun to allow his thoughts to float freely.

He was in some very strange place – or maybe just some other time, weird as the thought was – and he had no idea how he had arrived there. Or even less, how he could go back. This meant he was stuck, stuck with a person dangerous and with a temper, but most of all it meant that there were a whole lot of people he would not see again – ever. His heart was crying out to them, crying for help, but of course no one was there to answer. _And mom..._ He could not bring himself to think further.

He approached Grimgald's horse from the side, waiting for the man to appear and to help him up as he had done before. Marus passed him by, as always frowning when he saw his cloak, but Eragon had no problem ignoring him. Suddenly a nasty smell reached his nose and true enough, Grimgald was at his side. Eragon forgot all worries for a moment, wondering if it was possible that the stench had even worsened over night. Part of him wished for something, _any_thing to happen that would make the day bearable at least for his nose.

"Eragon!" Murtagh had arrived next to him, a tight grip on the reins of his fiery, dark grey horse. He pointed with his chin in the direction of its back and said something while watching Eragon expectantly.

His guts instantaneously convinced Eragon that Murtagh was momentarily the smaller of two evils. He accepted the invitation with a nod. "Yes. _Up withyou_." Something about the words he copied from Murtagh now brought a faint smile to the older one's lips.

When they were riding, the day still cool, Eragon found out that his new front man actually smelled very good. Not in a way that he was used to, not like fresh shower and perfume, but instead very… male. And strong. Eragon slapped himself mentally. It was happening again.

"You know," he informed Murtagh, just wanting to talk, "I'm so glad that you don't understand a word of what I'm saying. See, I just keep my voice nice and pleasant and you won't notice a difference between me complimenting your looks and smell, or me calling you an asshole. Great, huh? It's just as if you were a dog. Hey doggie. Boarhound." He giggled. "Seriously, have you ever felt like becoming a full-time recipient of titles that I make up? 'Eragon and medieval thespian Murtagh'. We could do a radio comedy."

Murtagh had turned his head at hearing his name and eyed Eragon curiously. He asked something, referring to Eragon, but the latter could only shrug. Murtagh took that as a yes and started pointing at random things, saying their names.

_Someone is in a good mood today,_ Eragon thought, but nonetheless jumped at the possibility presenting itself. He repeated all the terms after Murtagh until they ran out of items to point at. Soon the warrior sat half turned around in his saddle and they were gesturing with their arms and even making faces, trying to get across the meaning of basic verbs and adjectives.

Several hours had passed and Eragon was deeply content with the way the day had gone so far. What a difference it was riding with Murtagh, and that was not only due to the spirited mount, which forced him to hug Murtagh at times so that he would not fall off. Although, if he was honest, that was part of it, too.

Eragon had caught one or two looks from Grimgald and Marus, curious, sceptical looks, and he was sure that they applied to Murtagh speaking so much, confirming Eragon's guess about the man in front of him not being much of a talker.

Around noon, all stopped their horses and Murtagh hushed everyone, staring ahead, highly concentrated.

They had emerged either at the end of the forest or at some vast clearing – Eragon was not sure which of the two. He shaded his eyes and eventually made out the silhouette of a settlement in the distance. Probably considered a town here, he told himself, if these were indeed medieval times. _And a town means civilization_. His pulse sped up.

"Ceunon," Murtagh said, pointing at it. Then he was talking rapidly to the other two, who looked at Eragon and seemed to disagree about something, but quickly let it go, agreeing to what Murtagh was saying.

Eragon remembered the name and figured that maybe Murtagh had wanted to tell him the day before that that was the place they were headed. _Or not_, he corrected himself a second later when Murtagh addressed him. Apparently_ he_, Eragon, was not going. With so many words and much gesturing Murtagh told him that he was to stay here and wait for their return.

Eragon was slightly thrown off guard at the quick change of circumstances and felt more than just a little regret when Murtagh shoved him off his horse, but then the glorious realization hit him that being left behind did indeed mean being free.

Murtagh tossed him some food and pointed at a nearby small creek, telling him to eat and drink if he wanted to. Then he rode very close to Eragon and leaned down from his horse, all friendliness of the recent hours gone. "You stay here!" He pointed at the ground. "You. Stay. Here." He glowered at Eragon, one hand on the hilt of his huge sword.

That last motion had Eragon swallow, but he managed to hold the gaze and nod solemnly. "Yes." In truth he had to hide his excitement. "I stay here."

Murtagh watched him a moment longer before urging his mount forward, his men following swift. The horses thundered away, apparently more than eager to run after having kept a slow pace in the forest for so long.

Eragon stood unmoving until the small dots had lost themselves among bushes and other objects in the distance. Only then did he allow himself a small, jubilant cry. _They have not bound me! I can just walk away! _He hurried to the creek and drank thirstily, then relieved himself – remembering with embarrassment how he had had to 'explain' his need to Murtagh on their first night – and was ready to go.

Murtagh knew he wanted to go back to the tree where they had found him, so Eragon was certainly not returning the way they had just come. Not that he would find the place in the first place. No, the moment Eragon had laid eyes on Ceunon, he had known that he had to go there. Seek civilization. Find help_. And do all this on my own, without the warrior!_

"Thank you for the pleasant morning, mate." he murmured. "Still… Good riddance!"

He began to walk, his spirits lifting.


	3. A hunter of shadows, himself a shade

**A/N:** Murtagh, by nature, is not the friendliest, and with the slightly altered background I've given him here it's even worse. In this chapter, you'll meet the guy that the people of Alagaësia have come to fear. He _is_ trying, even trying hard at times (but not always), but it can only be called that when compared to _his_ standards… just so you won't sue me for some of the stuff he does here.

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"_Orúm_" is a word of CP's ancient language meaning "serpent", and in my story it's the name of Murtagh's short sword. I named it thus to pay homage to the guy I consider the greatest warrior I've ever met in literature… If you know who/what book I mean, drop me a line.

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**A hunter of shadows, himself a shade - Homer  
**

**Chapter 3**

12th Hay Moon

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The large gate leading into Ceunon was heavily trafficked with all sorts of people going in and out of town. Poor farmers and merchants were carrying their goods on their backs, richer ones were seated on top of ox and donkey trolleys loaded with supplies. A small group of soldiers was pushing and shoving its way through, causing everybody else to jump aside and to cry out in protest. Dogs were barking, a donkey was complaining at the top of its voice, women were calling for their children, greetings were shouted, and there was a never-ending flood of inevitable cursing. The day was scorching hot yet again and the scent of many people crowded closely together was an affront to the nose.

Murtagh saw the crowd blocking the gate before he even reached the road leading to it, but he did not slow down. On the contrary, he leaned forward in the saddle, asking his stallion to go even faster, raising dust behind him that covered his men.

When he neared the entrance, people were lucky to hear the oncoming drumming of hooves, as his mount was a fully trained war horse and would not shy away from overrunning people. Still, the pace was slowed down noticeably once they were inside of town, as the streets were crowded and even though people tried, they simply could not make much room.

Many recognised who it was entering the town, and Murtagh was dimly aware of salutations and bows along the way, but he ignored them. He had been in Ceunon often, so he felt no need to pay special attention to his surroundings. His mind was still on the handsome, blond finding of his, and he made a mental note to buy him clothes later on. As much as he liked the glimpses he could get of the body, the boy deserved something decent. Murtagh half smiled to himself – he had no clue where that notion came from.

He slowed his horse to a walk and heard Grimgald and Marus do the same behind him. He sensed their excitement about being out of the endless forest, knew they were hoping for some spare time to stop at an alehouse, and he was in a mood to grant it to them. "Grimgald!"

The man rode up to his side. "Yes, sir?"

"I'll prefer talking to the messenger by myself. Why don't you and Marus take our horses and wait for me? We'll meet again in two hours."

Grimgald's eyes lit up for a moment. "Very well, sir."

Murtagh jumped off his horse and handed Marus the reins. "Oh, and Grimgald?" He reached into the little bag he carried at his belt, produced a coin, and tossed it to his surprised sergeant. "For bearing with me." He turned on his heels and walked away. _Let them think about this_._ Their dead-hearted lord is paying for a round._

Taking a quick look around, he found himself at the intersection of two streets crossing Ceunon from north to south and east to west. Right next to it, almost at the geographical center of the town, was the market square with its usual busy comings and goings. It was just the place the man he wanted to meet would choose, because for some the easiest to hide was doing the opposite: being out in the open.

_You better not make me search for long, Demeca,_ Murtagh thought grimly. After all, he wanted to return to the forest as soon as possible. He started scanning the crowd around the market stands, quite sure that the spy, as so often before, would be disguised as a beggar.

It was a system set up decades ago by Morzan, who had always liked using the poor and crippled to gain information, as nobody seemed to pay much attention to them. It was also a part of society where news spread fast – probably out of the need to react quickly to survive, Murtagh guessed. He was not sure how much the king knew or had once known about the system, because all he ever wanted was to get the information, no matter how. And as long as Murtagh was fulfilling his duty, Galbatorix never lost a word about it. It was likely that he would never bother about the poor.

Murtagh's eyes came to rest on a well at the side of the market place, or rather, on a figure there, crouched low and leaning against the wall of a house. _There you are!_ Cleaving a way through the people, he steadily neared his target, his gaze never once leaving it.

He congratulated himself on how well everything had turned out. The latest order from Galbatorix had been simple, as Murtagh _only_ had to return the stolen egg. But because even the king could not deny how difficult it was to accomplish this task, he had given the Rider a free hand on how to proceed, and Murtagh had jumped at the chance presenting itself. Seeking out the elves and searching for the egg in their cities he had wanted to do anyway, and combining it with a trip to Ceunon to gather information increased his chance to succeed – perhaps also in reaching his own goals.

The rag-clad bundle on the ground did not move, and Murtagh thought Demeca was doing a rather good job of impersonating a sick, unimportant beggar. He came to a stop in front of the man and waited for him to acknowledge his presence. _He will certainly recognise my boots, won't he?_

News from Teirm should have reached Ceunon about a week ago, Murtagh figured, news whether their assassination attempt had been successful. When the king had found out that the powerful trader Jeod was keeping contact with the Varden and was forwarding information to them, he had passed the death sentence. Then the egg had been stolen, sending Galbatorix into one of his most dangerous phases of madness, and he had sent a second murder commando right away, to make sure. He wanted his loss compensated by a blow against the Varden.

Of course the king knew by now whether Jeod was dead or alive; what he had no clue about was that Murtagh had sent one of his men with the second killers. The instruction had been to interrogate Jeod before killing him, ask him especially about the egg, then pass on the information to the spy system. Murtagh had a feeling that the trader was somehow involved in the theft. And for some reason he was convinced that this information had been gathered, because he judged Jeod to be a well-prepared person, surviving the first attack on his life.

Meanwhile, nothing had happened and Demeca remained motionless. People were passing Murtagh by, closer than he was used to, but in the jostle they did not see early enough who he was to make room. "Demeca!"

No reaction. Murtagh reached up with his left and drew Orúm, the short sword strapped across his back, and used it to shove back the man's hood to see his face.

Or what once was his face.

Murtagh turned to stone, dimly aware that next to him a young girl started screaming. Demeca, who was obviously dead, did not look exactly human anymore. Both eyes were gone and broad, nasty scratches marred his face. There was hardly any skin left unscathed.

Within seconds Murtagh found himself in the middle of a circle of agitated people, who were pointing at the corpse and giving him wary looks, so he forced his body to move again and dropped the hood. When he walked away, the crowd was parting anxiously before him, afraid of even the lightest physical contact. He had seen enough. And he had also smelled enough, because although Demeca had not been dead for long, he was already stinking like meat rotting for days. That scent, Murtagh had learned over the years, was always to be found after a certain way of a murder. After a certain murderer. One with claw-like nails at the end of his fingers.

Grinding his teeth, Murtagh began looking for Durza.

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About an hour later he tore open the door of his preferred whorehouse, stomped inside, and slammed it shut again. He grabbed a lonely girl crossing his way and pulled her along, never once asking for her agreement, moving them both into a little room at the end of a long hallway. Without further ado he shoved her down on a straw mattress, turned her on her stomach, and pushed her dress up and his trousers down. All the while his thoughts were still on the Shade, whom he despised with a passion. _How dare the ugly creature threaten me?_ Murtagh entered the fragile girl hard and raw, not caring whether he was hurting her, ignoring her attempts to make herself at least somewhat comfortable. _How dare he? _His blood was boiling.

_Durza __was easy to find, a Shade being present in the mind of every magic user nearby who concentrated hard enough and knew what to look for. He was awaiting Murtagh with a sneer, amused about the little game of his. "Oh, did I happen to catch your source, Morzanson?" he asked innocently. "Did you think no one would find out about your special arrangements? About you not following the king's orders as you should? And am I really the only one now who knows the truth about Jeod? Galbatorix will reward me…" His mad laughter filled the room. _

Murtagh pounded harder into the body beneath him and used one hand to bury the girl's face in the mattress. The pain-filled screams were annoying him.

_At first h__e doubted that Demeca had told Durza what he knew, but the latter informed him that every resistance had broken after he had eaten the first eye."No more first-hand news for you, Morzanson," the Shade said triumphantly, "no more praise from the king. Soon he shall see who is the most loyal of his servants, soon you filthy son of a whore will be banned from court." The maroon eyes were full of glee and malice. _

Murtagh was angry, so angry. Screwing the whore hardly lessened his turmoil.

"_I can live with that," he replied with a snort. "I__, for one, am self-dependent." While circling the Shade, his mind furiously tried to breach some of the other's barricades. It was unfortunate to lose Demeca, but he had experienced worse and Durza had seen better, so that could not be the reason for the creature's triumph. Durza, he knew, was hiding something. _

He stopped his thrusts for a second, wondering how to get rid of the rage burning within. Someone had to suffer along with him, and for his taste the girl was not yet suffering enough, so he turned her around again and pulled her close, enjoying the fear and hurt he saw in her face. He pushed his cock against her unwilling mouth and slapped her hard when she did not immediately take it.

_His secret made Durza so jubilant that eventually he shared it with Murtagh. "The egg, Morzanson. Jeod __has talked about the egg. And I, only I, know what he has said. It's the end of the Varden, I tell you, and it will be me bringing it about. The king will praise me forever. You, on the other hand, you have failed, you two-faced, disloyal-" The flash of red hot light hit Durza unprepared and shut him up effectively, but the mouth with the foul teeth managed another nasty smile when he took his leave. "Is that all you can do, Morzanson? This little magic? No wonder your dragon is not around. I'd be ashamed as well for a Rider_ _like you…"_

Murtagh rammed into the throat until the gagging and choking he both heard and felt satisfied him. Shoving himself deep down, again and again, he finally found his release. Only when he noticed the girl's face to become slightly blue did he let go of her head, pulled up his trousers, and went away without a word. He left a coin with the keeper of the place, knowing exactly that the whore would never see it. Once outside, he took a deep breath and tilted his face up to let the sun warm his skin. He felt a lot better.

If someone else was to surpass him in the king's favour he would not mind. Quite the opposite, actually. He would be very content to be left alone more often, to have time to figure out his place in this turbulent world. Then again, he knew that it would never be possible. He was the only Rider apart from the king, which meant being a mighty weapon in battle, and also that Thorn was a possible candidate if there was ever a female to mate with. This led back to the blue egg: Galbatorix had once mentioned that it _felt_ female, although he had not been sure. If Durza, however, decided to inform the king not only about the connection Murtagh suspected between Jeod and the theft, but also about the fact that Murtagh was trying to gather information behind Galbatorix' back… It could get dangerous, even more so than every move of his already was. At the same time, Durza could only be bluffing, but Murtagh knew better than to take such a risk.

He found Grimgald and Marus exactly where he had expected them, which was in an inn not far from the place he had just visited. They were chatting away merrily with strangers, a long table filled with food and drink in front of them. _To think that I have financed all this… but no. They deserve it._

He walked towards his men with a few long strides, a plan forming in his head. It was time to take matters into his own hands. "Grimgald!"

His sergeant had not seen him coming and flinched and immediately jumped to his feet. "Yes, sir!" Marus quickly stood up as well, cleaning his mouth on a corner of his shirt.

"I want you two to travel to Teirm. You leave today. Demeca was in no position to tell me about his findings, so I need you to learn all you can about the trader Jeod, especially who he was in contact with on a daily basis and who his business partners were."

Grimgald nodded. "Yes, sir!" He paused. "There has been word about a mutilated corpse. Was it… the Shade?"

Murtagh only grunted in response, his dislike for Durza not unknown among his men.

"Milord! What of that Eragon?" As so often, Marus avoided his eye.

"Oh, we like him again?" Murtagh asked sarcastically instead of answering.

"No… I mean, yes… I don't know. I don't know him. I just… what of him?"

Murtagh chuckled. Making the young man feel uncomfortable on purpose was quite amusing. Which was not right, he knew that not only since his oath a few days ago, but still. It helped his mood. "I'll take care of him. If he's a messenger, I dearly want his message." _And if he is not,_ he added silently, _if he truly is a runaway pleasure_ _slave…_ _I won't mind. Not at all_. "I'll take him along with me, we'll go back into Du Weldenvarden, and I'll see what I can find out about the egg. It's ridiculous how well the elves have kept quiet in the past weeks. Durza said that… well, I need to find the damn egg. Or at least learn about its whereabouts."

Knowledge was all he had. It was the most powerful, but also almost the only weapon against the king. Knowledge kept him alive whenever he was being doubted, whenever others pointed their fingers at him, calling him a traitor at heart. So far, he had always been able to convince Galbatorix of the opposite, although this had become unbearably hard when he had started losing faith. When he had begun to see the errors of their way. Which, of course, did not mean he sympathised with the Varden… He spat to the dirty ground when the thought of the rebels crossed his mind. To him, they were a bunch of unorganized fools, seeking power only to throw the country into the next madness, a madness ruled by chaos and anarchy.

_T__he system of the kingdom is sound, it is just the king that is… not so sound. And creatures like Durza should not be allowed to exist, let alone be given power. _Murtagh fought hard not to let his anger get the better of him again. Even if the Shade momentarily gained an advantage, he would win it back. He simply had to gain _more_ information, make himself irreplaceable. Then he could deal with the king; he knew how to handle him. He was a Rider. He was _the_ Rider. And he judged things differently than Durza had: news about the whereabouts of the egg would not be the end of the Varden, only a hard blow to their hopes. It was a lot, but not enough. Murtagh actually had to find it, because only _that_ would make the difference.

"Milord," Marus tried again, his voice entreating. "What of my cloak?"

For a second Murtagh was stunned by the unimportance of the matter. "Wasn't it you who argued that it was so warm and no one really needed one?" He saw Marus remember the incident and wince, which was enough of a victory for Murtagh to pull himself together. "Here." He tossed him money. "Go buy yourself another one. But make haste, I want to see you two gone as soon as possible."

Marus eyes lit up. "Yes, milord. Thank you!" He bowed and was gone.

Grimgald, however, stayed longer and gave Murtagh an inscrutable glance. "You know," he began tentatively, "you'd probably get further with him if you were more often like that…"

Murtagh regarded him quietly for a moment. There was nothing left that the sergeant could teach him – Murtagh had overpowered him years ago – but the older male still held one dangerous weapon: Grimgald and Tornac had been of the same people, with the same grey eyes. And in those, Murtagh could sometimes catch a glimpse of his late trainer, his mentor, his spiritual father. It was always an angry Tornac, a disappointed Tornac. Right now, though, Grimgald, and thus Tornac, was appeased…

Murtagh nodded. "I'll try and remember that. This world does not need another Morzan."

Now it was Grimgald who was too stunned to speak. After a moment he bowed as well and took his leave. "Go with the Gods, sir!"

"Thank you," Murtagh murmured, feeling oddly moved. It was not something he heard on a regular basis. People simply did not wish for him to return unharmed – or return at all.

When Grimgald was gone and the moment had passed, Murtagh went to get his horse, which was tethered to a pole outside of the inn. The afternoon light made the town look friendlier than it really was and reminded him of the other purpose why he had visited Ceunon, the purpose that had not been there until the arrival of a certain blond…

He directed his horse towards the quarter of the craftsmen and stopped in front of a tailor to buy clothes for the boy. He was a bit lost when it came to sizes and measurements – usually he had people doing all the purchases for him – but with the help of a tailor who was sensing good money he eventually decided on garments. He thought he was doing exceptionally well in terms of his vow, especially after the agitating meeting with Durza and its possible consequences.

Loaded with goods ranging from leather boots to cheese, Murtagh left Ceunon, again in a cloud of dusk. He longed to get back to the woods, although it did not hold the promise of quiet and solitude. But for once the thought of prolonged talking and company did not bother him. He was not sure what it was, but something about the youth was special. And even if not, there were still his good looks.

He left the road after several miles and rode cross-country in the direction of where he had abandoned Eragon in the morning. His men had been against it, doubting the boy would obey, but Murtagh had been firm in his belief. He knew Eragon wanted to go back to the place he had come from; however, he also knew that the youth had no idea where that place was. And they had made such amiable conversation this morning… No, Eragon would be there, Murtagh was certain, and he would appreciate the things bought for him. Murtagh's mind jumped to the possible ways of payment he could ask for, and he was busy with rather dirty dreaming until he got to the place he was looking for. With no Eragon in plain sight.

He jumped off his horse and scanned his surroundings. "Eragon!" His call faded away without answer. Estimating that they had left the youth on his own for nearly six hours, he wondered what a disorientated and helpless person would do in the meantime. _Probably try to orientate himself._

He noticed a little cliff to his right, surrounded by bushes and wild flowers, and thought that if he were that boy, he would go there to take a good look around. He left his horse and climbed the rocks, only to find… nothing. "Eragon?" Now Murtagh used the outlook himself and shaded his eyes, casting a long look in all directions, eventually using his magic to help him out.

He was the only human around.

Murtagh cursed heavily and his good mood vanished in the blink of one eye. _How dare the little thing go against my order?_ He jumped down and returned to his horse, which stood exactly at the place where he had left Eragon. _At least he doesn't have a clue how to cover his tracks. _Within an instant he found the boy's foot prints on the forest floor and followed them back and forth until they went straight in the direction of Ceunon. "Oh, really clever." He hurried back and mounted his horse. "Just wait till I get you," he threatened the thin air around him, thinking of Eragon.

Soon he found out that the boy had taken the same way they had, which was, after all, the swiftest to town. Murtagh was quite angry at himself for overlooking all traces on his way back. He hated losing time, even more so now, with Durza ahead. If the most unlikely thing happened and there ever was a new Rider, he had to make contact before the king did, no matter how dangerous that was. Therefore he had to find the egg, the sooner, the better.

Murtagh was already back on the road and rapidly nearing Ceunon when he caught sight of 'his' boy in the distance: Eragon, in his most ridiculous attire, had been intercepted by a group of soldiers not far away from the town's gate. Halting his horse a good deal away from them, Murtagh watched how the youth was gesturing wildly and how the men obviously did not understand him. _How should they,_ _if I have not?_ Before long the soldiers stopped listening and simply grabbed the boy and dragged him along into Ceunon. Eragon struggled and kicked his legs, trying everything to break free, but to no avail.

Murtagh spurred his horse to a slow trot. His first thought had been to interrupt; only a word of him was needed for the soldiers to hand over Eragon. A moment later, however, the idea of the boy spending a night in a cell was alluring. _I have falsely treated him as an honoured guest for far too long. This night will teach him to be obedient in the future, and to appreciate how I've handled him._

Then again, he still felt the urge to deal out punishment, to make the boy feel his anger. Yet he stayed back, postponing it, and only followed the troop in a safe distance without being seen. He claimed a room close to the garrison and drowned his irritation in ale, meanwhile imagining what he would do to Eragon the following day.

Generally, people defied him once, only once. After that, they did as he told them to or they did not do anything ever again.

Murtagh was not even aware that he delayed his trip once more only because of Eragon.

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"Murtagh!"

Murtagh stopped dead on entering the room and hearing Eragon call his name with so much joy and relief. _That's not possible!_ He beckoned the guard commander holding the keys, who came running and opened the cell, as worried as the rest of his men that they had done something to evoke the anger of the Rider.

Eragon had been sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin on a layer of dirty, old straw, but now he got up quickly and moved towards the open door. "…Hello!" he remembered when he passed the row of iron bars, then stopped in front of Murtagh, looking like a dog who had lost its master and then, against all odds, recovered him. Only once did he look back, and a visible shiver ran down his spine.

Murtagh was more than a little perplexed. _Should he not be crouching in one corner, afraid of my wrath?_ For punishment did await the boy, and it would be severe. So he refrained from returning the greeting and instead glared at Eragon, wanting the other to feel bad. Eragon, however, either ignored him or did not even notice his hostile expression. It dawned on Murtagh that he would make a greater impact with his look if he was a friendlier person in general – now the difference was not exactly big.

He shrugged; Eragon would realize soon enough what he was in for. "Leave us!" he barked at the soldier, who hurried out of the room. "Here," Murtagh turned to Eragon, "clothes. Wear those." He tossed the items he had bought the previous day to the ground and watched the youth put them on. When Eragon got to the boots, Murtagh saw that his feet were raw, had been bleeding a little, but he did not do anything about it. _It hurts to run away? Good_.

"Thank you," Eragon said while dressing. "Talk?"

"No, not now," Murtagh growled, sounding worse than he felt. The fact that the boy was completely unafraid, seemingly wanting to continue where they had ended yesterday, astonished him, and – to his absolute surprise – appealed to a part of him he had not known existed. Someone trusted him _outside _the battle field?

Eragon was ready and watching him. "Go?" Murtagh was not blocking the way, but something kept the blond in place, although his posture still showed no fear. Suddenly there was a noise from another cell, a soft whimpering, and Eragon flinched, his eyes widening. "Go?" he asked again, this time almost pleading.

Murtagh decided quickly. "Yes, we'll go." He led the way out to his horse, thoughts running in his head. He would still carry out the punishment, but refrain from humiliating the other by doing it in front of people. _'Tis as much as I can do, and he will be grateful, which can't be bad…_

Soon they had left the town far behind and were nearing the forest again, for Murtagh was planning to head east, deep into Du Weldenvarden, to pay a secret visit to the elven cities hidden there.

When they had passed the first trees, he abruptly halted his horse and, as on the day before, shoved Eragon unceremoniously down the croup, making him stumble_. Just wait, boy. Your troubles haven't even started yet._

Eragon was protesting in his language, not having learned the relevant words in the common tongue so far. However, when he glanced up at Murtagh, he finally seemed to understand that something unpleasant was up. He moved a step back and shook his head. "No."

"I'm not even sorry for this," Murtagh murmured when he jumped to the ground. He strode towards Eragon, dropping his sword belt and grabbing the second belt underneath, slowly unfastening it. He smirked when he saw blue eyes grow larger. "You ran. You brought this upon yourself."

"No!" Eragon declared again, pointing at the strap of leather in Murtagh's hands, backing away further. "You… no!" He tried to sound authoritative while at the same time picking up speed moving backwards.

"Stop!" Murtagh called. "Don't run, fool. I'm not even that mad, but if you continue like this…" He knew he was not understood, but it felt good telling someone that he was not _that_ evil. Eragon, however, did not react to it; instead, he suddenly turned around and started running.

Murtagh cursed. _Can't the boy take it like a man?_ Before he even thought about it he had reached for his magic, and a red bolt shot out from his hand, following the blond and knocking him to the ground.

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In the end, Eragon did take it like a man, astounding Murtagh once more. Nothing about the youth ever turned out the way he expected it to; never before had he been so wrong in predicting another's actions.

He roughly grabbed Eragon and pulled the dazed boy to his feet. Then he used his belt and bound the other's hands over his head and to a tree. "I will only hurt you, not mark you for life. But I don't want you to writhe away," Murtagh explained the usage of the belt, and added as an afterthought, "Believe me, I know what that's like… The marking, I mean. I carry a scar big enough for the two of us." The words sent a chill through his body. He could not remember when last his mouth had been so uncontrolled. He left the tied up Eragon waiting for a moment and rubbed a hand over his face. _Have I truly just told a stranger about my scar?_ _Do I_…_ do I want to save him from the sort of pain that I suffered from? The shame that is still there?_ Never had he cared before.

Eragon was watching him, lips pressed together, showing recognition at the word 'hurt'. Yet he did not falter and only awaited the inevitable quietly, accusing Murtagh with every look he gave him.

So Murtagh dismissed the strange thoughts and begun punching Eragon, fist to stomach, each and every blow delivered with precision and force. Any second he expected the other to crumble, to whimper, to plead – just as people in the boy's situation usually did. He was prepared to close his heart to this strange person, to ignore his every attempt at lessening the punishment.

Which Eragon did not do.

His face was contorted with pain and he had to gasp for air after every blow. Soon sweat broke out on his forehead and eventually he stopped glaring at Murtagh, who noticed the other's eyes becoming wet. But nothing. No sound passed Eragon's lips.

Normally, Murtagh would have increased the intensity at that point. He wanted his victims to cry out, to beg. Yet somehow Eragon's quiet defiance impressed him right away and continued to impress him the more he thought about it. The boy was helpless only at first glance – behind his pretty face he hid a strength matched only by a few.

All of a sudden, Murtagh stopped. He would not carry it out until Eragon fainted. True, he was never disobeyed, but also never before had it felt so wrong hurting someone. He studied the other for a while, but the boy was keeping his gaze averted. _No, not boy,_ Murtagh corrected himself. _He is a man._

He untied Eragon and steadied him when he nearly fell. "You." When he had the other's full attention, he noticed resistance and – finally – pain in the angry and sad eyes. "You will not challenge me again!" He licked his lips, realizing that he had to reword it. "You walked to Ceunon. That was wrong! Bad! I say stay, you stay!"

Eragon inhaled deeply, then spat him in the face.

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	4. Life is not merely being alive

**A/N:** A few important things:

- Because of this chapter I hate myself for the different languages component. What I've settled for in the fic is that in "Eragon's" chapters, those words that he hears and that are still foreign to him are written how he understands them (and they're in italics. This is truly the chapter of italics). Naturally, he also says them as he hears them. It's a bit like phonetic spelling, only with normal letters. Or at least, it's _one _way of spelling the words. Of course, sometimes he gets them immediately right by accident. So anyhow, if you come across some strange word in italics, say it aloud, the meaning should become obvious then. "Murtagh's" chapters are the other way around, logically.

- Regarding the language issue in general: I hope I can make it halfway realistic, that's why later on there will be so much time between some scenes and also why I let Eragon be good with languages. Of course I'm no expert on the matter, but one of my brothers is able to learn a new language in no time, so in that respect, I'm kind of basing my Eragon on him.

- By the way, have you noticed the dates? They are different with regards to whose perspective the chapter is from. However, to simplify matters, I'm simply letting Alagaësia have the same calendar as the US, and I've only changed the names accordingly. I inserted the dates when the story was halfway done, realizing that it might get too confusing without them. So, please, always keep them in mind.

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**Life is not merely being alive, but being well – Marcus Aurelius**

**Chapter 4**

July 13th

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_Asshole!_

There were so many things Eragon needed to think about, so many plans to make, but his mind had wrapped itself around this one word.

It had been the second time in only a few days that he had been subject to violence carried out by the same brute. However, that was also where the similarities ended. A few days ago, at the little stream where Murtagh had punched him with the hilt of his sword, Eragon had thought that it had hurt, he had felt degraded. Now he could only grimace looking back. Today he had experienced pain, real, utmost pain, for the first time in his life. And the asshole Murtagh had brought it about.

He was lying on his side with his knees pulled up to his chest, and was staring at the shapes of trees that he could make out against the darkening sky. When after some time the position became uncomfortable, he slowly and carefully shifted to his backside, but it was already too much. A stinging pain shot from his stomach in all directions and handicapped the movement of his arms and legs. He drew in a sharp breath and lay motionless for a minute or two, trying to even out his heartbeat, to slow his pulse, to relax. Yet it did not work out the way he wanted it to and he felt part of the nausea returning.

He had thrown up earlier, shortly after the beating. Murtagh had let go off his arm and Eragon had simply dropped to the ground, down on all fours, and had vomited all there had been in his stomach – and more. The disgusting taste of bile had stayed with him all day, not contributing positively to his general condition.

After what he had learned to be his punishment, Murtagh had left him alone – as alone as possible when two people were squeezed together on one horse. Later, however, when the daylight had been waning and Murtagh had decided on a place to spend the night, the older one had begun talking to him. _Or he has tried to,_ Eragon thought, _for I have not let him._ If Murtagh had at least shown some remorse, some guilt about having hurt him so, but no. He had rather seemed quite content with himself and had apparently wanted to continue where they had left off the previous day's morning. _How dare he? _Eragon told himself that he would not be talking to the other again until some sort of apology was made. And he would only accept one that Murtagh meant, because the actions taken had been wrong.

Thinking about the logic that the other probably saw behind all this made Eragon angry again. Yes, he had 'disobeyed' by not staying, but the command had come from someone who was holding him captive. There was no obligation whatsoever on Eragon's part to abide by Murtagh's rules.

Looking back, he was rather satisfied with the way he had made his opinion known, although he now realized that it could very well have led to a greater amount of pain. Fortunately, though, Murtagh had stayed calm and had only let go of Eragon to wipe the spit away. That was when Eragon's legs had given in and the puking had started.

_At leas__t,_ he thought grimly while massaging his stomach, _at least I am cured from Stockholm syndrome. There is nothing likeable about Murtagh. _

_Asshole__._

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"Is good," Murtagh said, holding out a dried fruit.

Eragon regarded him with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. Murtagh did not stop trying. _That's not possible!_ Nevertheless, he accepted the wizened, brown object the size of his thumb and bit off a tiny piece to taste it. Finding it delicious, he quickly shoved the rest into his mouth. He should have known what it was.

Murtagh was watching him expectantly. "_Date_. With _hunney_." When there was no reaction, Eragon saw what he had come to call a 'mood shift' in the other's eyes, going from hope to displeasure. "South of Alagaësia," Murtagh added quietly, before shrugging and rising to his feet, whistling for his horse.

_Great__! __Two more useless words for me to find my way in this __world, this Alagaësia_. It was a strange name, and it goes without saying that Eragon had never heard it before.

He enjoyed the after taste of the sugared fruit a little longer and then got up as well, following Murtagh. He knew that they were going straight east to find some people, and although the forest called Du Weldenvarden never allowed for a fast pace as they were not following any real path, Murtagh likewise never allowed long breaks. To Eragon, it felt like some sort of race, just that he did not know who they were racing against.

All morning Murtagh had told him things, indeed completely ignoring what he had done to him the day before. This time, though, Eragon had not repeated the words; anything that could make Murtagh think he was forgiven was eliminated from the agenda. Yet he had listened closely, aware that only because he was being treated badly, he still had to gain knowledge of the language. The little episode with the soldiers of Ceunon had taught him that he had to learn how to communicate. So he had alternately watched the endless, ever present forest around him, or he had stared at the person in front, all the time reminding himself that the pleasant, low voice was only a trick, that the man it belonged to was a persona non grata.

After their little lunch break Murtagh became quieter, only mentioning things occasionally. This left Eragon's mind time to wander, and it soon arrived where he had not wanted it to go. _It's just about time for baseball practice_, said a little voice in his head, which started a flood of images. He saw his team mates, some of whom he was close friends with. He remembered their night at the movies, only _one_ _week_ ago, recalled how they had hung out at the mall afterwards. He was even able to picture the brunette waitress at the ice-cream place, and how he had laughed at his friends who had been trying to get her attention. He himself had been more interested in watching the cute boy behind the counter handle the different flavours.

Eragon swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat.

His high school came to his mind, the cafeteria with the greasy fries he liked to eat there, his locker stuffed with the books that he had always considered the greates threats in his life. Hell, even his Biology teacher suddenly seemed appealing and a truly nice guy. _I would write a test every single day for the rest of my life, write it gladly, if I was back at school right now_.

The horse stomped with one of his hind legs and called him back to the present. To reality. Or was it really? Eragon had a hard time believing that he was stuck there now, in such a strange, hostile world with even stranger, more hostile people in it, but somehow he doubted that he would suddenly return home just as magically as he had appeared. It made no sense. Actually, nothing about the whole matter made sense, yet there was a nagging feeling taking possession of him, a feeling that it was final. _I am now in Alagaësia, wherever that is._

"There!" Murtagh pointed to their right, alert. "Look!"

Eragon was secretly thankful for the interruption and looked in the indicated direction. "I… no see."

"You don't see it?" Murtagh corrected while turning slightly in the saddle to glance at the other. Then he brought his head close to Eragon's, gazing in the same direction, and pointed again. A single syllable left his mouth.

Eragon felt both angry and shy at the intimacy of their bodies, acutely aware of a strand of Murtagh's hair touching his cheek. "Woolf?" His attention was wavering.

"No, _wolf_. Look, Eragon!"

Finally Eragon saw the grey animal, which was quite far off and nearly merging with the forest around it. He would have never seen it on his own. Still, he wondered why Murtagh placed so much importance on it. _Are wolves rare in Alagaësia?_ "Wolf… good?" He bit his tongue. He had not meant to contribute at all to a conversation.

Murtagh turned around until he could truly look at him before explaining quite a few things. The only words Eragon could make out were 'wolf', 'good', and 'bad', and that Murtagh referred to himself, and then it turned into a jumbled mass of sounds, although the older one was talking slowly and precisely. Eragon believed that he must have made a dumb face when Murtagh suddenly laughed briefly. The sound carried far in the quiet summer afternoon, and the wolf was gone.

"Eragon _leicks_ dates." Murtagh explained after a while. "And Murtagh _leicks_ wolves." This certainly left out ninety percent of what he had said previously.

"Leicks," Eragon tried, convinced that he knew what was meant.

"No. _Likes_," Murtagh said slowly. "I like, you like, he likes." The laughter was long gone, but his eyes kept twinkling merrily.

When Murtagh turned around again, Eragon let out the breath he had not known he was holding. The laughter, the eyes… even now, with all that had happened, there was no denying. _I guess I ended up with a truly handsome asshole,_ he concluded.

The afternoon passed mainly in silence, with their surroundings forever changing while at the same time always staying forest. Beeches, oaks, maples, and birches were the trees Eragon could identify, and numerous bushes were filling out the spaces between the stems. The floor was covered in moss, herbs and old leaves, with the occasional gnarled root or a swampy puddle of water here or there. He was able to spend about an hour like this, observing his surroundings closely, noting that it looked just like an average mixed forest. Once he had arrived at this realization, though, his mind was free once more, free to roam…

_No!_ Eragon did not want to think again about things possibly lost.

The rest of the day he somehow managed to keep his thoughts in check as well as keeping Murtagh at bay with simple yes and no reactions to all he said. In the evening this earned him a snort from the obviously annoyed warrior, who moved some yards away from where they had eaten dinner to sharpen his weapons.

_You have no right to be pissed,_ Eragon thought, all of a sudden feeling unbelievably lost. _You hurt me, not the other way around._ He glared at the other. _I do not understand you, not at all._

Grabbing what was now his cloak, he looked around for a soft spot on the ground and found a moss covered place not far away. There he lay down with his back pointedly to Murtagh and closed his eyes, shutting out the grey twilight in the world around him. However, he was unable to sleep, and it was not only because of the rhythmic scraping sounds that Murtagh was still producing.

Thoughts held back all day were forcefully pushing their way through to the surface. Showers, cars, telephones, school, even friends… in the worst of all cases he could do without. Not easily, yet somehow he would manage. Make new friends. Deal with cold water. And horses. _But my family?_

In all clarity he saw a scene with his mother: She was working in their backyard, her long blond hair in a ponytail, a streak of dirt on her cheek, laughing at her own futile attempts to fight the rosebush in front of her. Eragon had rushed to her assistance, and had earned himself quite a few scratches as well as mashed potatoes with sausages that day.

"Mom…" Eragon whispered, unable to breathe. A few tears escaped his eyes, no matter how hard he squeezed them shut. "Mom," he whispered again, this time so quiet that it was only his lips moving. The thought of never seeing her again and not even having a chance of saying goodbye… _She will be worried to death!_

All of a sudden a sob escaped him, while the tears had begun to flow freely. Eragon tried his best, but he could not suppress his aching heart anymore. He missed her so much already.

The sharpening sounds had stopped immediately when the other noise had broken the silence. Between two more sobs Eragon heard that a heavy item was dropped to the ground and that Murtagh stood up – and came closer. The other always moved soundlessly, but Eragon felt him approaching as clearly as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

He quickly grabbed a corner of his cloak and stuffed it into his mouth to stifle the sounds. The tears, however, would not stop, and he angrily wiped at his face. It had taken all his willpower, all his vigour, to endure the beating soundlessly and thereby to prove his strength. He had known that Murtagh had wanted him to break down, which had motivated him even more to withstand the ordeal. So the last thing he wished for now was the other learning of his misery.

"Eragon!" Murtagh called softly, not far behind him.

Eragon remained motionless. _Go away!_ he thought fervently. _Leave me alone! I cannot face you at the moment._

Suddenly his shoulder was nudged lightly. "Eragon," Murtagh murmured, before asking what was going on.

Or at least Eragon thought that was what he was being asked, but he only shook his head. "No!" It was completely dark now, the night protecting his face that was wet with tears. Or not. Suddenly there was a finger on his cheek, feeling exactly that wetness. Eragon lay frozen for a moment, then slapped at the hand and curled up into a ball. _Go away!_ he thought once more. _I do not want you near!_

"Eragon," Murtagh said a third time, albeit refraining from making contact. "Do you want to talk?"

If he had known the words, he would have asked Murtagh whether it was so hard to learn the answer to that question by himself. Instead, Murtagh just would not stop bothering him, enquiring stupid things. _But then…_ _brutes are not able to understand emotions or body language, are they?_ "No," he answered, all too aware of how helpless, how lost even that one syllable sounded.

Murtagh did not move for a while, but finally sighed and retreated.

That night, Eragon silently cried himself to sleep.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

He was getting more and more tired by the minute. The monotony of riding through the forest from sunup to sundown for days on end was taking its toll. Eragon figured that if he had his own horse to pay attention to, he would be more attentive, more alert, but as that was not the case, he had no responsibility whatsoever to keep his mind busy.

The steady rhythm of the horse's walk, the warm sun on his back, and the buzzing of the insects around them made him very drowsy. He had to fight hard not to lean forwards and rest his head on one of the strong shoulders in front of him, although they looked very alluring. But slowly and inevitably his eyes fell shut and his body lost all tension. He was only dimly aware that his head did indeed fall forward eventually, one of his hands securing his body by wrapping itself around the person in front of him…

_He was in the park again__, taking a bath in the sun, his eyes closed to the bright light. He had agreed to give the farewell speech for their retiring baseball trainer, so now he was using the spare time to rehearse it over and over, changing around bits and pieces here and there. _

_Suddenly his surroundings darkened, quickly, and he opened his eyes, expecting to be surprised by a storm again. Yet this time he found himself in a pitch black world __instead__. Slowly he stood up and looked around, but there was only darkness in all directions. All the people that had been lying close to him had vanished, as had the trees of the park. He was alone. Alone in a dark and silent world… except… there was a light coming towards him, a blue light, nearing at great speed. It stopped when it was about to hit him, so dazzling that he had to cover his eyes. _

_After a moment the intensity of the light lessened and Eragon saw that it was coming from__ a stone of sorts, a blue stone the form of a perfect oval. He reached out to touch it, fascinated by the fact that a stone could glow so much, when all of a sudden he felt the presence of another person near, a presence filling him from head to toe with horror. He turned around in a flash – but there was nobody, only darkness. When he looked back at the stone, it was now in the hands of a man with blazing crimson hair. He had appeared out of nowhere, sneering at him with dirty teeth, his eyes shining maliciously in the blue light. _

_Suddenly Eragon feared__ for his life and panicked, although he did not know why. He tried to get away, to run, but his feet were rooted to the ground. With each breath it became harder to get enough air, and his heart was beating so fast that it threatened to blow his chest up._

"_Mine," __the man said triumphantly, "too late, Shadeslayer. Mine!"_

_He screamed.  
_

Little by little Eragon came round when his hand was being patted and a concerned voice was repeatedly calling his name and making soothing noises. It took him a while to recognise who it was, but once he did, he was endlessly relieved to be back in his new reality and not in the dream anymore.

"Shall we _rest_?"

Eragon nodded, not quite sure what had been asked, as so often only guessing, and – as usually – guessing right. Not for the first time he was glad to have a linguistic talent.

Murtagh slid down the side of his horse's back and held out a hand for him, which Eragon took without much thinking. It had been three days since the beating, two since the embarrassing, teary night, and he had done his best to ignore the alternately worried or irritated Murtagh ever since. But at the moment, he was grateful for the company. The warrior he was stuck with came across as so strong, so powerful; Eragon felt oddly protected from the man with the red hair.

_A dream! I__t was only a dream!_

Murtagh led him to a grassy spot and urged him to sit down, crouching in front of him. "Have you slept badly?"

Eragon nodded weakly, surprised at how much his body was affected by the imagined turmoil. _What's wrong with my unconscious?_ "Yes, badly. Here," he tapped his head, "badly."

Murtagh observed him sceptically until understanding dawned on his face. "You have _dreamt_ badly."

"Dreamt?"

"Yes, as in dream… see people and things in your head when you sleep."

"Yes, yes," Eragon confirmed, sending Murtagh a forced smile. "Dreamt… fear." He was gradually regaining his usual state of mind and the horrors of the dream were fading away. Yet the pictures would not leave him completely, especially not that horrible man-like creature, and he wondered just what the hell it meant.

"'Tis all good," Murtagh said and reached out with one hand to cup Eragon's face with it. "I'm here."

Eragon was astonished to find that he did not mind the touch, but the words were not to his liking. Maybe Murtagh was 'protecting' him now from his dream, yet at the same time he was the person that had made Eragon suffer more than he ever had in his life.

The other must have read his expression closely, for there was another mood shift, hazel eyes were darkening, and worry was replaced by casualness. Murtagh dropped his hand and got up, then unsaddled his horse with expert hands. "We stay," he called over his shoulder, "it is _all moast_ sundown..."

"Murtagh!"

The warrior looked up and threw him a questioning glance.

Eragon opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again a few seconds later. Did he want to talk about the dream? More yes than no. Did he have the words? No. He shook his head. "I'm hungry."

Murtagh scrutinized him for another moment before gathering wood for a fire. "I'm hungry, too."

Eragon hesitated only a moment before helping him. He needed to get his hands moving to divert his thoughts, and at the moment he did not feel like keeping up his passive resistance. "Where we… go?"

"Where are we going?" Murtagh always corrected him, but never impatiently or unfriendly as Eragon would have expected him to. "_Ozeelon_. A big city. _Elves_ live there."

Eragon threw his armload of thick branches on the little heap Murtagh had created. "Ozeelon," he murmured. Most definitely he had never heard of a big city with that name. He opened one of the two saddlebags and looked for food, not asking whether it was allowed for him to do so. Probably it was not, he figured, but there was nothing besides food stuff for him to discover. "Your word, in end… what? I don't understand." He looked up and at Murtagh, noticing that somehow the fire was already burning. _How has he done that? Did it go this quickly the other evenings, too? _Eragon shrugged; he must have been lost in thought.

"_Humans_ live in Ceunon. _Elves_ live in Osilon. It's O-si-lon." Murtagh was watching him, one eyebrow raised at the unusual interest in talking that Eragon was displaying.

Eragon shook his head. "Humans? People live in Ceunon!" He did not see any difference.

"Well," Murtagh began, then pondered for a while. "Elves are people, too, I think. A person with two legs means it is a people." He made a break, slowing his speaking pace down. "But there are humans and there are elves. Different people."

"You and I…"

"… Are humans."

Eragon picked at his bread. "I don't understand. What are elves?"

"Different people," Murtagh repeated and chuckled quietly before turning serious again. "Elves are old. And beautiful. _Whys_. And often they don't say what they mean…" He was looking past Eragon now, staring into the distance.

Eragon observed the odd look on the other's face and suddenly he found the whole situation unbelievably funny. _Has someone here made bad experiences?_ He had an idea what it could be about. "A woman?"

"What?" Murtagh asked sharply, his eyes narrowing.

Eragon smiled coyly. "I… dream? I… no words…" He grunted in well-known annoyance.

"Dream?" Murtagh had forgotten the food in his hands.

"In my head…" Eragon tried to make clear.

"Oh, I see. The word you mean is _think_. You _think_."

"Ah. I think." The smile was back. "I think you and a woman… an elves woman…"

With a snort Murtagh turned his gaze away and to the fire in front of him. "You know nothing," he said quietly.

"Talk!" Eragon requested without thinking. _This is getting interesting._

Murtagh's face froze, although his voice stayed calm. "No. This is _pri-wit_."

"But-"

Murtagh held up a hand to silence him. "_Pri-wit_ means that only I know," he said a little harshly. "You don't. I won't tell you!"

Slightly abashed, Eragon cast his glance down. He had meant to tease, not to tear open old wounds. "I don't… I… sorry."

Murtagh's features relaxed again the moment the threat was gone. "You were _curious_. That is understand_ible_. And _curious_," he explained before Eragon could interrupt him, "means that you like to know things. Remember like?"

"Of course I remember," Eragon piped up, his pride a little hurt. He was struggling with grammar and conjugations, not with forgetting words.

"Of course you do," Murtagh appeased him. "And as for elves…" he added a while later, "beautiful. You will see. In Osilon there are elves."

_And what will we do after Osilon_, Eragon wondered quietly, the woman long gone from his mind. _What will become of me? What do you plan for me?_ But he did not ask these questions. He was afraid to hear the answers.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Eragon crawled forwards through the wet, long grass, closing the gap on Murtagh. Part of his mind was insisting on the fact that he was doing a ridiculous imitation of a soldier in war; it was even ridiculous compared to a soldier in a movie. He shut that part up. Murtagh said it was necessary, and Eragon knew better than to object.

Murtagh nodded approvingly. "Soon you shall see elves."

Eragon bit his lip. By now he had heard quite a few things about these mysterious people and he was truly excited to see some of them.

Nearly one week had passed since his creepy dream. One week filled with trees, with riding, and with sleeping. And talking, Eragon admitted freely. He was a sociable person, and not a vengeful one on top of that. Out of boredom he would have started conversation at one point anyway, but in fact he had began quite early. He had not forgiven, could not imagine to forgive. However, he momentarily ignored what had happened and instead enjoyed the very companionable Murtagh he had gotten to know these past days. The older one simply knew _so much_. And contrary to their first days together, with the other men still around, he was now also sharing his knowledge, patiently answering all questions and breaking down difficult terms and concepts into easy words and short sentences. Sometimes Eragon even got a glimpse of the other's thoughts, although he would be the first to admit that they were very foreign to him. _Still interesting, though…_

"Alright, come here." Murtagh waved him even closer, shoving away a few branches of an elder bush. "Can you see the path?"

Eragon slid right next to him, acutely aware of the sides of their bodies touching. He stared at the clearing ahead through the little window framed by small, dark green leaves, and after a moment he was able to make out a narrow path at its long side. It was barely more than a trail left behind by the red deer so common in this area, and it would not surprise him to see some this early in the morning. "Yes."

"Now we'll wait."

"We will see many elves?"

Murtagh shrugged. "I don't know. I guess there will be two or three. A _typical scowd partee_."

Eragon frowned. "I don't understand 'typical scowd-"

"Quiet now!" Murtagh ordered, his body suddenly very tense.

Eragon sealed his mouth shut and nodded. If he had learned one thing in his time with Murtagh, it was not to risk the other's anger unless it was really worth it. As long as he was unsure whether he would profit from breaking the rules, he would comply. No matter how nice Murtagh was these days, Eragon had not forgotten that there was another part to the older one, a part that was never far from the surface.

Then he saw the elves and temporarily forgot about anything else.

For a moment, Eragon was too awed to even think. What he perceived were possibly the most beautiful beings he had ever seen. Three elves, all of them with long black hair and fair skin, clad in elegant, dark green and dark blue clothes, were leading their horses on foot along the path, moving with fluid movements and grace.

When he had spent some moments looking at them, he also noticed that their features were different from those of humans. Their eyes were slightly slanted, and, when he caught a glimpse of one ear beneath the hair, he saw that it was pointed.

_Forget __Hollywood. This could never be done with special effects._ Eragon briefly smiled, then he was again captured by the sight unfolding. The elves did not seem to be walking, they were floating. Perhaps, due to the time of day, it was only the mist playing around their feet, but to Eragon they seemed ethereal. He watched them almost in trance, completely enchanted. Never in his life had he seen people with such an aura before.

Or had he?

Suddenly the skin on his neck and back was tingling and Eragon's stomach made an odd little squirt. A picture was forming in his mind, but it remained just beyond his grasp, frustrating him to no end. He looked at the elves again, at those beautiful people, the most-

_Wait!_

He tore his gaze away and pulled at Murtagh's vest. The raven-haired head shot around disquietingly, and the older one's face held an expression that Eragon had not seen before. Probably for that reason, the first thought entering his mind was that he should not be gaping after the elves so much, there was a gorgeous, striking man near and- _No!_ He cut off his thoughts and instead motioned for said man to follow him. He crawled back for seemingly endless minutes until a confused Murtagh called for a stop.

"That was _od_, Eragon."

Eragon shook his head. "Od?"

"Doesn't matter." Murtagh waved it off. "Why did you want to leave? Every human that sees elves for the first time is usually _an-tranced_ for a rather long _periad_, forgetting what really matters…" His thoughts were clearly drifting.

"Murtagh. You say much." Eragon was shaking his head once more. "Too much for my."

"Me_._"

"Too much for _me_. But not first time. I see elves before. No, one elves." _Dear God._ Eragon turned to heaven for a moment. _Please_, _next time you sent me on a trip, please, please sent me somewhere where they speak English. I cannot take it anymore._

"One elf? You're saying that those weren't the first elves you've seen? You've seen an elf before?"

Eragon's mind was racing from processing all the sounds, although these days they mostly made sense to him. "Yes. The elf… it was a man. But no… hair. Not hair like the others or you." They had not yet spoken about colors.

"Hair like… _Black_? You mean _black_?"

Eragon nodded. "Not black. Elf with hair like me."

"Where, Eragon? You never told me."

_I have not told you much at all, but you never notice,_ Eragon thought, irritated, before his memories of the elf kicked back in, pushing other matters aside. "I think… I-I see an elf in Ceunon." _Why am I stuttering?_ "In prison." _That's why._

"You… what?" Murtagh seized his arm and led him a few steps in the direction of his horse. "There was an elf in the prison with you?" He was apparently thinking back to that day, but shook his head.

"Not with me," Eragon corrected, chest all of a sudden tight. He had excluded thinking about that night thus far, because it had scared him badly, scared him of the future and of the soldiers doing something to him. "In prison, but not with me."

"In another cell? You could see him?"

"Yes," Eragon answered, the night freshly back in his memory. "He fears, I think. He sleeps, but… blood on him. Pain." He swallowed to suppress a hiccup. "And he dreams. He says things. All night." Any time he would prefer the wild, endless forest with Murtagh to that night with the muttering and groaning person in the cell next to him.

"Did you hear what he said?" Murtagh had grabbed his shoulder and seemed very close to shaking him. "Tell me!"

"I don't know if he said words," Eragon hurried to explain. "It was only… sound. Always sound. Brom."

"No!" Murtagh yelled and immediately cast a look around, shocked at his outburst. "Brom? Are you sure?" he asked, his voice subdued.

"Yes," Eragon answered tentatively. "Why?"

"Brom?" Murtagh began to walk up and down, rubbing his forehead with one hand. "_Brom_?"

_What did I do?_ "Murtagh?" Eragon felt his heartbeat accelerating. _What if I just sealed some person'__s fate?_

Murtagh stopped in front of him, regarding him for so long without saying a word that Eragon became afraid that he had now also turned invisible on top all things. "Brom is… was… a _Suretoogal_."

_No, I'm still very much there. _"Suretoogal?"

"Never mind. Brom is _dead_, Eragon."

"Dead… The rabbit yesterday?"

Murtagh nodded, his mind obviously somewhere else. "Yes, the rabbit was dead, too." He stood unmoving for another moment before reaching with one hand up to his saddle, mounting his horse, and beckoning Eragon to follow.

Eragon moved closer, grabbed Murtagh's hand and put one foot in the stirrup to help himself up. "I don't understand. Brom dead? But... Where are we going now?"

"Maybe he isn't dead, after all. That would mean that… We must _herry_. I can imagine him _steeling_ the _agg_, or helping with it."

"Agg?" Eragon asked, although there were more words that he had not understood.

"It's _egg_." Murtagh flipped his tongue, urging his horse to a canter right away. "Egg as in _dragon_ egg."

"Dragon?" Eragon called. "What is dragon?"

* * *


	5. A little light dispels a lot of darkness

**A/N: **A truly fun chapter to write for me. Putting Murtagh, who is such a control freak and considers himself the greatest authority present at pretty much every given point of time, into the situations at hand... priceless, really.

* * *

**A little light dispels a lot of darkness -** **Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi**

**Chapter 5**

24th Hay Moon

* * *

Murtagh felt a light touch on his neck, moving slowly from the right side to the left. _It's not sweat_, some part of his mind told him, _more likely an ant or some other bug_. As it was, he would prefer an ant over the tip of a sword anytime and thus ignored the sensation. He had other matters to attend to.

Or not.

Osilon was as dull and inactive as any prosperous city would be around noon of a hot summer day. More significantly, it had also been like this all night and morning. People in the possession of an important part of Alagaësia's future – in other words, the sapphire egg – should be more alive, more alert. Originally, Murtagh had expected quite some progress by coming here, especially after the mentioning of Brom, and having to learn that it was in vain bothered him no little.

He was lying on his stomach at the edge of Osilon, hidden below a huge hazel tree. Earlier he had smeared his face with dirt so that it would not give him away in the shadow, but now it was bothering him, his skin sweaty and itching in the heat.

Not for the first time he wondered why the elves protected themselves so little. Sure, they would immediately know if a larger group of any race was approaching, and they did have protective spells around their settlements, but for someone with Murtagh's skill it was no problem to go around them or simply modify parts with counter spells. Never had he had problems advancing to the heart of elven cities. _I probably should have – it_ _would have prevented all contact with Arya_. Then again, it had been exciting, especially knowing that she had always tried to make him see what she called 'the right way'. She _had_ made him think, true; in a way she had led his mind further down the path that Tornac had once pushed it on. But Murtagh had known better than to tell her that, convinced that it would have turned their physically rather active meetings into mentally challenging discussions.

He smiled at the memory. His first year as a Rider had been thrilling in so many ways. One of them was the short, intense, and most of all forbidden affair with the elven princess. It was a good thing that he had ended it so soon – her temper being one of the reasons – but sometimes at night he remembered her vividly, reliving their breath-taking encounters, and he could not help but judge her to be royal not only by birth but also by skill and knowledge.

Noticing how his entire body agreed, he was glad that there were suddenly elves appearing in his field of vision, taking his mind off of things. The two men and one woman, however, did nothing more than walk from one side of the open space to the other, disappearing in one of their typical tree houses at ground level.

Murtagh sighed. He could as well quit. If the elves had the egg, it was not in Osilon.

He slid backwards, careful that the bush around him would not rustle. Frustration made him want to kick at something; he could not stand being in the dark. For him, bringing Jeod and the elves together in the theft was difficult enough, and the possibility of a former Rider being involved made it even harder to understand._ It's true, though, that no one would be more fit to steal the egg than Brom__ – i__f he's alive. _At the same time, he was convinced that it was the elves who would keep and protect such a precious object. This meant that Murtagh now had to travel further at the horrible slow speed until he reached Ellesméra, to find his vague ideas either confirmed or shattered. Durza, on the other hand, possibly already knew more, and had known for weeks. _And if the egg is not in Du Weldenvarden, after all, and he's on the right track already__… _The thought was quickly cut short and buried.

After a while of crawling he jumped to his feet and started walking towards the little camp he had made with Eragon on the day before. _How come I didn't question him thoroughly after Ceunon? The earlier I would have learned about Brom, the better. _On the other hand, Eragon had not been able to talk back then as he could now.

Without interruption of his thoughts, Murtagh stopped at a little well and gathered water in his hands to wash his face and neck.

Apart from the language obstacle, Eragon had also wanted to be left alone after the beating, and Murtagh had granted him that wish, still impressed by the younger one's defiance. Yet the silence had soon begun to bother him. Eragon was taking matters far too seriously – it had been only a beating, after all. Murtagh knew various methods of punishment that were a lot worse. Eragon, however, was apparently not aware of them.

_I have even offered myself to talk to,_ Murtagh thought, grunting quietly. _He was miserable, I__ wanted to help. And where did the kindness take me? Nowhere. _Not a successful method, he concluded – not that he knew what would be._ Eragon__…__ so strange a__ boy. No, not boy, man_. _But quite amiable company and truly great to look at._ Murtagh knew he did not mind more weeks of travelling together, not even with all these pressing matters to attend to. But some things concerning Eragon had to change. _No more mysteries!_

An odd sensation rushed through him and he froze. All his senses were immediately on high alert, and after a moment he could discern the very soft sound of light feet on the forest floor. _Elves_.

With a few careful steps to his side he merged with the trees around him. Simultaneously his magic was kicking in, pulsing in his veins, and he had to focus hard to keep his hands from glowing, which they often did even through his gloves.

Then he saw them.

Two women, warriors both, were passing him by only a few yards away. However, their postures were calm – for elves, that was. They had not heard or seen him, and his highly shielded conscious protected him from their sensitive minds.

When they were long out of sight, Murtagh exhaled deeply and released the hand clutching Zar'roc's hilt. He could have fought them, but it would have been hard to prevent an alarm being raised shortly after. Moreover, although he did not mind killing in general, he had come to mind it if it was so obviously unnecessary.

Once the excitement of battle had passed, he felt his anger rise, anger about himself. How could he have been so carefree, so occupied with his thoughts that he had missed them? What had been on his mind? _Ah,_ he remembered, _right. Eragon._ Somehow it did not surprise him. The anger immediately extended to include the blond. Thus far – if Murtagh was objective – Eragon had given him more trouble than pleasure. _Truly, it is time that I am repaid. With information, sure, but I want more.  
_

He increased his pace, pondering again about what he knew about the other so far, testing his theories. Eragon came from some foreign country, Murtagh had learned, but none that he knew. None that shared a border with Alagaësia. None that one could travel to.

He would be the first to admit that the information at hand did not make sense, and it fitted with his theory that Eragon must have hurt his head when the tree had crashed down on him. While that still did not explain what Eragon had done in the forest in the first place, or where he had been heading for, one thing was for sure. Whatever and whoever Eragon was, he could not be of any significance to the important matters of Alagaësia. He did not even know what a dragon was, apparently.

_So what about him being a slave? _Murtagh's original suspicion was still valid, espcially now when no other possibility remained. _I could as well take my share, then. It's because of him that I almost ran into elves, and he has kept the news about Brom from me. He owes me. _Slowly but inevitably his lust was stirring. After all, it should be only normal for Eragon, so he was unlikely to mind very much. Therefore, travelling together could get even better. Less trouble, more pleasure.

Murtagh passed his tethered horse and soon arrived at the little rocky spot he had left Eragon in. He watched the young man sitting on the ground, noticed how his eyes lit up, and guessed that someone had been quite bored. _I can help you with that… _

"Eragon?" Murtagh asked, aware of how husky it sounded and smirking at his needy body.

"Yes?"

"Come here!"

Eragon got up obediently and trotted over to him, his expression curious. "Tell me!"

"Tell you what?"

"Yesterday. You go without tell me about dragon." At the last word, an expectant little smile played around Eragon's lips, which made him extremely handsome.

"Not now." Goosebumps claimed Murtagh's arms the moment he thought of attending to the handsomeness in a more physically fulfilling way than only looking at it.

Eragon frowned. "But… many things I don't know."

"For example?"

Eragon began counting on his fingers. "Dragon. _Suretoogal_. Brom."

_Nothing. No recognition whatsoever._ If Murtagh had still needed proof, this would have been it. Eragon had no idea what any of these words meant, which was not only odd, but also the final evidence that he was not a messenger. It was simply impossible to travel in Alagaësia without ever hearing of dragons or Riders. _Thus I am right. What else could he be, if not a slave?_ When Murtagh realized that his already well-liked travel mate would also become his pleasure mate for the time being, his body temperature rose. And when he considered how experienced Eragon must be, his blood was suddenly boiling. _Now on to proving the theory!_

He noticed that Eragon was still waiting for some sort of reaction, and even felt inclined to answer some of the questions – later. Eragon was a nice young man, after all, and it seemed as if he had been kept away from the world all his life. _He deserves some treat__…_ _after_ _he has treated me the way I want to. _"Maybe I'll tell you tonight. I want you first." Murtagh chuckled at his bluntness, knowing exactly that the words would confuse the other, make him think he had misunderstood.

"You want I… err… me?"

_Exactly, little boy._ "Lay down!"

"Lay… What?" Comprehension and disbelief were struggling in Eragon's face, before he shook his head and only disbelief remained, though now paired with some caution. "Why?"

Murtagh was smirking again. _So this is one that likes to play, likes to be conquered? As if he doesn't know what is wanted of him or how to behave… _"Lay down!" he repeated, more firmly this time.

Eragon swallowed and watched Murtagh closely for a long moment before doing as told, his body stiff and tense, ready to jump up again any second. "Dragon?" he asked once more, carefully, excitement gone.

Murtagh shook his head, too impatient to explain himself. "Later." It had been weeks since that whore in Ceunon, and he had not really been able to enjoy her. With Eragon, on the other hand, he was sure it would be a different matter. He had not been with a man in a while, and never with anyone so… Murtagh wondered what to call it. _Cute?_ _Perhaps cute in a very manly way_. Eragon was strong. Moreover, he had the body of a man, too, albeit a lean one.

Eragon became very uneasy being stared at for so long. "Uhm, Murtagh," he pushed himself into a sitting position again, "I don't know-"

Murtagh was down on the other's level in an instant, pressing him back to the ground with his left. "Don't make this difficult!" He removed the glove of his right with the help of his teeth and unfastened the blade from his back, then fumbled with his sword belt. Finally the time had come to act on those dirty thoughts haunting him during the long days on horseback, the thoughts caused by the other body pressed against his back. _I should have clarified his identify in the very beginning by doing exactly this!_

Eragon's eyes were wide open now, showing the fear that had been gone for so many days. "Murtagh?" His voice cracked. "What do you_…_?" He reached out with both hands for the arm pinning him down and tried to wriggle away, but he was in a disadvantageous position and could not move much.

Murtagh was temporarily getting distracted by his own body, which decided to hump Eragon's waist though both were still clad. He cursed through clenched teeth. "Damn! Alright, enough! You're a tease, I understand, but I want you. Now!" Finally the second belt dropped to the ground and he fought his trousers next. His hand was shaking in anticipation, which had him both astounded and amused for a moment. _Didn't know I want him that much._

"No!" Eragon shouted, panicking. "I am no_… _no _teez_. I don't understand. Go! No! Don't!" His legs kicked wildly, causing Murtagh to sit down on them. However, Eragon continued to struggle, and his fear gave him more power than Murtagh would have expected from the slim body. "Please," Eragon eventually begged. "Please!"

In the last instant Murtagh noticed the knee aimed for his groin and he jumped to the side, letting go of his victim. He had learned early on their first day that Eragon could put quite some force in such a kick. "Curse you!" he hissed, irritation rising. It was taking longer than he cared for, and the fact that Eragon continued to defy him… Murtagh's blood was pumping in his veins, even his vision was slightly reddish. _Enough now!_

Using the sudden freedom, Eragon quickly rolled onto his stomach and jumped to his feet, although he had learned better than to attempt to run. Instead he faced Murtagh, crouching slightly, ready to avoid any hand grabbing for him.

"Eragon." Murtagh made his voice thick with threat. "Serve me as you should and you shall benefit. But I want it. And I want it now!" _Yes, now!_ another part of his body agreed. _Now and hard and raw._

Eragon shook his head frantically. "You want… you want…"

"…Sex." Murtagh made a step towards the other, his muscles taut. _One move, just one move, and I will crush you beneath me._

Eragon had obviously no problem understanding that word and he started shaking. "No! Murtagh, no!" He licked his lips. "Wh- why?"

"Why? Stupid question. Do you think I don't know what you are? Only because I've left you alone so far…"

"No!" Eragon yelled. "Murtagh… you… you are not _you_!"

_Huh?_

Eragon swallowed hard, thoughts clearly racing in his mind. "You're not… not_…_ err_…_"

"What am I not?" Something about the situation was so different from what Murtagh had expected, he was actually willing to listen.

"Bad," Eragon whispered, then snorted. "_Now_ you are bad."

Murtagh straightened up, a dirty little smile breaking free. "But I _am_ bad, Eragon. Always. You should hear what the people say about me."

Eragon shook his head again and began to present arguments. "Something in Osilon was not how you like. Something with elves was not how you like. Before… on journey… you are different."

_How strange. _"I beat you, Eragon. I. Beat. You. And I know I've hurt you with that, you were mad for days. How am I not bad?" _And why are we talking about this?  
_

"You… I hate what you do… did. You know I hate it. It was wrong and bad. But you… change. You changed." Eragon was talking quickly. "When you showed me elves this morning… you did that for me. You saw elves before. But you showed _me_."

"Yes, I did," Murtagh conceded, thinking how silly he must look, standing there unarmed with his trousers open. At least there was not much skin showing and he was losing his erection anyways… which he did not want. "So," he made his tone argumentative as well, "why can't you be nice, too?"

"Murtagh!" Eragon shook his head again, hands balling into fists. "Be… Murtagh!"

Something stirred in Murtagh's chest, something faint. "What do you mean?" His mind suddenly came up with the picture of Eragon lying on his side that one evening, sobs shaking his body. Murtagh had never found out what it had been about.

"Be nice. Not bad. I… I…" Eragon cheeks suddenly gained a little colour. "I like you nice," he whispered, quickly looking away and to the ground.

Murtagh stood very still, eyes never leaving the other, his mind repeating those hushed words over and over. Every thought about sex had vanished and he absentmindedly fumbled with his trousers again, this time closing them. "You are not a slave," he remarked superfluously, his voice having lost its harshness.

Eragon looked up and cocked his head. The change of tone had not gone by unnoticed. "What is a _slave_?"

"Never mind." Murtagh was looking for his weapons, feeling uncomfortable without them now that he was thinking with his proper head again. Thinking rapidly, actually. Not _one_ thing had he gotten right about Eragon thus far. _And now he says there is something he likes about me?_ Again something stirred in his chest, stronger now, urging him to explain. "Eragon, look. I… usually people don't mind."

"What?" Eragon's eyebrows shot up. "Don't mind? If you… if you… with force?"

"No. Either it is without force, or if it is with, those people are used to it." _Or they are a too afraid to struggle much._ Murtagh could not look at Eragon and sat down, staring at the large leaf on the ground in front of him. A leaf with raspberries on top. Raspberries that not _he_ had gathered, but that had been left for him to eat. _Eragon has- __Damn!_ All of a sudden, Murtagh's throat was dry as parchment and he reached for the brandy – also laid out for him.

"Murtagh…" Eragon began, moving a bit closer, still very cautious. "Do you want to hurt me today?"

Murtagh closed his eyes and drank some more. A foreign emotion was creeping over him that left him confused and disoriented. All he knew about it was that it was called guilt, and that at the moment it caused him to want to make Eragon lose his tension. "No. I don't." Despite the statement, the air around him remained thick with the other's doubt. Determined to change this, Murtagh opened his eyes and looked up at Eragon. "I thought you were one of those… I thought I could just do it. But you're not." He could not remember ever having been in a similar situation. He had had to explain numerous mistakes before, but it had always been about saving _his_ skin, never about saving someone else. "Look, I won't do it again. I… I'm…" The 'sorry' never passed his lips. Unable to apologize, he grimaced and moved on. "Why don't we eat something?"

"Later." Eragon crouched down next to Murtagh, very close, scrutinizing him and eventually reaching some sort of conclusion. "Murtagh… you're nice again. I like you nice."

Murtagh nearly lost himself in the azure eyes and had to fight a berry down his throat which did not want to swallow anymore.

"You." Eragon poked him lightly in the upper arm. "You have problems. I know that. But if you're nice…" He fell silent for a moment, expression turning soft. "If you're like… like this…" he continued eventually, his hand now resting on Murtagh's arm, sending a shiver down the older one's spine. "… I do… _this_." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Murtagh's.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"No, no! Don't lean forwards!" Murtagh shouted, his hands forming a cone around his mouth. "Sit straight, don't kick it with your legs!"

"Ahhh-oooohhh-aaaahhh!" Eragon screamed, his hands buried in the mane of the horse he was sitting on. Trying to sit on. Clinging to.

_That's definitely not riding,_ Murtagh thought amused. "No! Sit straight! Get a hold on the reins and shorten them." He jumped down from the fallen tree he had been crouching on and entered the large clearing in front of him. His grey stallion was grazing peacefully in the meadow, ignoring the madness raging around it. Murtagh strode towards it through the nearly waist high grass. If Eragon could not handle this soon, he would have to interfere, and that would include his four-legged comrade.

"I can't!" Eragon yelled from the far end of the clearing, arms hopelessly stretched but at least connected to the reins now. His horse was still in control. "Impossible!" With apparent effort he tried to follow Murtagh's advice. "It will never work! It's-" He paused for a second, continuing the process of straightening up. "Oh." He pulled at the reins tentatively and suddenly it worked just fine. "Ah. It's slow down."

"It's _slowing _down," Murtagh called, shaking his head. _Is it really that hard to just follow my instructions right from the start?_ "Try to turn its head in my direction. No! Carefully! You want to make friends, else you'll have a difficult time in the weeks to come."

Red-headed and breathless Eragon neared Murtagh, halting about two yards away. "Ha! Not so bad anymore." He patted his horse's neck fondly, murmuring things Murtagh did not understand. "Do you think it will… what is the word… miss… the other person?"

"You never know, but probably not." They were almost in Ellesméra by now, which meant that it had taken Murtagh a good two weeks to give in to Eragon's request for an own horse. But he had given in eventually, although it meant that Eragon would not be so close behind him day after day after day anymore. "Try to simply walk him a bit. At the moment it's the slow pace that you two will have to get used to." He remembered the little raid he had performed the previous day at dusk, stealing a horse from a pen near a small settling of elves. It had not been a great risk, but still. He had not done it for himself, he had done so for Eragon.

"Him?" Eragon eyed his chestnut-coloured mount sceptically, meanwhile doing as he was told more or less successfully. "Are you sure?"

"Of course! It's a stallion. Can't you see?"

"No."

Shaking his head again, Murtagh swallowed down a reply. _Is this indeed Eragon's first time riding a horse by himself? _

"I think…" Eragon was returning, his face beaming, "… yes. This will do. Right, horse?" He dismounted, a little wobbly on his feet. "He needs a name!"

"A name?" Murtagh shrugged. "As you wish." Yet another thing he could not place. _What man can't ride at sixteen but wants to give his horse a name? _

"Yes. I… Does your horse have one?" Eragon frowned. "I never hear anything."

"Tornac," Murtagh said quietly, while an image of a tall, dark haired man with grey eyes appeared in his head. _Can you see me here?_ he asked in his mind. _I'm being good. You'd be so proud._ He shook his head to rid himself of the picture. "But it's a special horse, it deserves a name."

"Why?" Eragon was strolling at his side now, both leading their horses on foot.

"It's… he's a warhorse. I trust him completely. He's… good. In every way. Just like his namesake, a-" Murtagh abruptly fell silent and pressed his lips together.

"Name… _sake_?" Eragon had caught on to the strange mood. "What does that mean?"

Murtagh sighed, dismissing the topic from his mind. "It's a long story. I don't feel like telling it at the moment. We should get going." He turned his back to the other and mounted his horse, acutely aware that he shied away from answering.

Eragon studied him for a moment, his forehead slowly crinkling into a frown. After a moment he turned to his horse and struggled with the saddle and his own limbs until he eventually managed to mount it. "_Cadoc!_" he broke the silence once they were riding.

"What?" Murtagh had not paid much attention after seeing that Eragon was able to mount his horse. "What is cadoc?"

"The horse. It's his name now. I hope… no." Eragon bit his tongue and stared into the scenery.

"What do you hope?"

Eragon glanced at him for a moment before looking away again, a light blush covering his cheeks. "I only thought that… I hope it doesn't mind that it have a new name."

"_Has_ a new name… It's only a horse," Murtagh pointed out. "And he used to be only one of many, not even of elven breed. I don't know why they have kept him among their horses." _Could they not have kept a sapphire blue egg as well, for no reason, just like the horse?_ Murtagh knew he was losing time, wasting time. He could only guess what was happening in Uru'baen these days, and he imagined Galbatorix' fury still growing with each hour that passed without news of the egg. _Hopefully he won't lash out his anger at Thorn. _Depending on what Durza had told the king, Murtagh could have a very unfortunate stand at the moment, and as he was not around, Thorn would have to pay for it… His only hope was that Galbatorix was more focused on the hunt for the egg.

Murtagh shook his head to clear it of the dark thoughts. "What does it mean?"

"What?"

"Cadoc?"

"Oh. My… father of my mother. Part of his name."

Murtagh acknowledged the information with a nod.

They rode quietly for a while, with Eragon tense and watching Cadoc's every step, his hands still ready to clutch the mane, and Murtagh calm and keeping an eye on Eragon and the chestnut stallion, until his attention wavered after a while. The sun was steadily gaining strength, and he felt how it dispelled the last bit of the morning's briskness. In the trees around them, the wind was singing its endless song. _A consistency unmatched, least of all by men. _Murtagh cocked his head and watched a small cloud rolling through the sky._ All nature ever does is following its own path, no matter what__…_ He wished he could say the same about himself, because he knew that he was straying away from his path, and he did not know what to make of it. These days, he was paying heed to another person's needs.

The kiss, which had taken him so much by surprise that he had thought his heart had stopped altogether for a moment, had been the only one to this day. Two weeks had passed in which Eragon had kept his distance, careful and wary at first, unperturbed and mostly smiling now. Yet the kiss had held such a promise, it had been a gesture so powerful, that Murtagh was waiting patiently. _He said he likes me,_ Murtagh thought, bewildered as always when his mind went that direction. _He likes me. No one has ever said that. If__ I'm nice, that is. But I'm trying… Am I trying hard enough? Am I nice? He never says anything, never comes close…_

He swallowed dry. Sometimes it looked as if Eragon wanted _him_ to say something. However, he had no words for this, knew not what was adequate. So he kept quiet, often remembering the kiss, holding on to the hope that it had truly been a promise of some kind.

Yes, he was indeed straying far from the path of his previous nineteen years.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"How long will you be go?"

"How long I will be gone? Only a few hours. I will plan later how to proceed. I can already feel Ellesméra being far more active than Osilon."

"Well… I'll wait here with the horses." Eragon did not seem thrilled but shrugged it off. "You are careful, won't you?"

Murtagh almost missed and ignored the mistake. _He means it. He really means it._ The corners of his mouth twitched upwards all on their own. "I will be." He turned around and ducked beneath the low branches of an oak tree, and quickly left Eragon behind. _The faster I get there, the faster I can return._

He moved swiftly and gracefully, yet not fully alert. Ellesméra he knew. After all, it was the home of the elven princess. Who, if he recalled information gathered years before correctly, used to have a good relationship with Brom. Not like _that_, Murtagh called his upcoming thoughts to order. There had been something like an alliance once, in the days long before his own involvement in the matters concerning this world.

When he heard the first voices in the distance and felt the presence of other magic users in his mind, he slowed down noticeably, paying closer attention to his surroundings. The city was not far anymore.

He had not yet decided what to make of Brom, the man who had killed his father. For any other person this would be reason enough to start a blood feud, but not so for Murtagh, who would willingly grant forgiveness to anyone involved in the death. Moreover, he had heard many things about Brom, most of them to his liking; 'noble' had been the term used by Tornac to describe the other male. However, the maybe not so dead man had been, or would be now, with the Varden.

Murtagh could hear an imaginary Thorn grumbling in his head. They both disliked the Varden with a passion. Still, if he did not learn anything new in Ellesméra, the contact with Brom was unavoidable. From those soldiers that had supposedly burned the unconscious Rider in his house, Murtagh had learned that Brom had once lived in Carvahall. Therefore, the village could be the next – and perhaps last – place to look for hints and possible answers. He groaned inwardly. Carvahall was also the exact opposite direction of their week long crawling.

Then again, it also meant more time with Eragon. Murtagh had not yet planned what to do with him, but he knew that once things were picking up speed – or once Thorn was picking up his Rider – he would have to get rid of Eragon somehow, leave him behind at some place.

He truly did not feel like doing that.

"What do we have here?" a female voice asked piercingly. "A little Rider? All lost in thought?"

Murtagh froze dead. Three swords were aimed at his throat from different directions, swords held by elves who had appeared out of the blue. He knew better than draw one of his own weapons. One glance at the elves' faces told him that they would not hesitate to kill him right there and then.

"What have you been thinking about, oh great Murtagh, that had you dream away?" The voice came closer.

"Arya," Murtagh said through clenched teeth, his eyes darting to the right when she appeared in his field of vision and following her until she came to stand in front of him. The black-haired elf was tall and lean, yet still very much a woman. Her green eyes were blazing, more in triumph than in bloodlust. Nonetheless, Murtagh figured that it might have been healthier if he had ended their affair more gently.

"What?" she enquired smugly. "Your dear master has lost one of his toys and you thought right about the awful, awful elves being behind it? I should have known. Indeed, I knew."

Murtagh remained quiet. Matters between the king, and thus him, and the elves were clear and settled: enmity to death. In circumstances like the one at hand, there was nothing he could say to improve his situation. However, he wished that Arya would keep in mind how valuable he was with all that he knew, information craved by the Empire's enemies. She _should_ bring him into town and before the council. _Better ten elven elders than one spurned elven princess. _And quietly, in the back of his mind, another wish made itself heard, too. _Please, don't find Eragon!_

Arya had watched him intently, trying to decipher his thoughts, but apparently in vain. Her eyes narrowed. "Block his magic!" she instructed an elf behind him. "Bind him and take him where he belongs!" She focused on Murtagh again, smirking. "You, my dear Murtagh, have actually done me a favour. I didn't know you still felt so much for me."

Murtagh could not prevent a snarl breaking free, but he managed to keep his body still. The swords were still at his throat, and the hands holding them still ready to strike.

"You are now a big, big fish in our net," Arya continued, her voice falsely sweet. "And I take it you're very happy that we don't eat fish."

"Delighted," Murtagh growled.

"But we sometimes trade with them. Usually they're kept alive for that purpose." Laughter broke from her lips. "Usually."


	6. It is the eye which makes the horizon

**A/N: **There's two sides not only to every story. Here we have Arya in a different light, that is, perceived from a different POV. She probably appears a lot more in character right away, but then, I can't remember having seen her face someone in the books that she personally hates as much as she hates Murtagh in this fic. I must confess that I had great fun when she enjoyed her triumph over her (temporarily) helpless ex at the end of chapter 5.

Oh, and rumour has it that there are people who – for the sake of the storyline – ignore details such as the dates, and also read over what is said about how much time passes in between different scenes. Here's what you need to catch up: Chapter 5 began on the 24th, and in the course of the chapter a good two weeks passed. Chapter 6 starts on the 18th of the following month, meaning that in the meantime even more time has passed. So no, there's no chapter missing, even if the beginning of #6 might look like it.

Last but not least: next Thursday is the 25th, so technically I could wish you a merry Christmas then, but here in Germany we already celebrate on the evening of the 24th, so I should not wait that long. Therefore: Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it! However, I have to inform you that the best food will be found only in my parent's house, cooked and baked by my mom, so you'll have to settle with second-best…

****

* * *

It is the eye which makes the horizon - Ralph Waldo Emerson

**Chapter 6**

August 18th

* * *

"Stop dropping your sword!"

"I don't _want_ to drop my sword!"

"Then why won't you learn to hold on to it?"

Eragon groaned and picked up his blade, his whole right arm throbbing painfully from trying to parry the blows. He was failing this, failing big time; it was even worse than his attempt at playing the piano years ago. At least that had not hurt. But now, on top of his inability, there were also measures taken to make sure that everybody heard about his pitiful efforts. Vanir, it seemed, found great satisfaction not only in proving Eragon's inferiority, but als in voicing it aloud. And as always, the elf had his audience: there were numerous people in the vicinity who had halted their activities and were now watching the sparring session.

"Again! Prepare yourself." Vanir adopted his fighting stance and smirked. "You don't want Arya to laugh at you, do you?"

Eragon did not want to continue, seeing no point in further practice of this manner, but tensed his body in anticipation of the next failure nonetheless. _Does he have to bring Arya into this, too?_ True, she was one of the few that did not treat him like a little child only because he was not used to this world's ways, but it did not mean that he felt anything for her. Not the way Vanir was implying. At least that was what Eragon told himself. "Ready."

Like a flash Vanir jumped forward, pretending to attack Eragon's weapon once more. But instead, he suddenly raised his sword and had the blade at Eragon's throat before the latter had so much as winced. "Dead," he remarked with another smirk, his eyes blazing.

Eragon simply let go of his weapon, not seeing how it fell to the ground and also keeping his gaze averted from all the people looking at him. _This is insane!_ "Vanir, how can I learn if you go at that speed?" As so often, he was both irritated and frustrated.

Vanir sheathed his sword and left him behind, calling a jest to another elf in their own language, earning a laugh. "Learn faster, boy," he called over his shoulder. "Although I suspect that you cannot learn at all."

Eragon shook his head instead of answering. Mad as it made him, he did not want to seem an ungrateful guest, because apart from Vanir he was being treated kindly. He picked up his sword once more, having learned on his first day how to treat a weapon properly. With a piece of cloth he cleaned all grains of sand and other bits of dirt off the blade, and only when it was shining spotlessly again did put it away at the edge of the sparring ground.

As inconspicuous as possible he looked up and around and noticed how the little crowd of onlookers was dispersing. No one paid any more attention to him. Unsure what to do next, he let his eyes wander around, taking in his surroundings.

These days, the strange, forest like capital of the elves made sense to his brain and he could distinguish between nature and… twisted nature. Yet twisted or no, it was unmistakably one of the most beautiful place he had ever been to. However, whenever he stared at a spot too long or inhaled too deeply, his stomach made an odd little squirt. It was a place that had never been intended for humans to live in, after all.

Still, Eragon liked Ellesméra very much, and he knew exactly where the feeling originated from: his mother would fall in love with the place right away. She would be thrilled to spend a night in a home that was more tree than house, and would stroll all the hours from sunup to sundown through the city, walking among the flowers and marvel at their beauty. _If I could ever tell her…_

Eragon cut out the thought before it fully formed in his head and likewise dismissed the picture of his mother. Now was not the time to think of her. Although, if he was honest, he made sure that it never was.

Just as every other day his eyes moved to the shaded place beneath a mostly normal, uninhabited tree some distance away from him. It was directly next to the great hall of the elves – the place of their rulers. _How convenient,_ he thought bitterly, _this way they don't have to walk far to look down on their prisoner._ Because there, on the ground close to the tree trunk, the elves were keeping Murtagh, and Eragon thought that they were keeping him pretty miserably.

Dirwen, the friendly but somewhat disinterested man that Eragon was staying with, had told him on his first night in Ellesméra that Murtagh was still highly dangerous to all, although his weapons were stored away and some of his abilities which Eragon did not fully understand were now blocked.

"_We have discovered a long time ago that fighting humans is best done with human weapons and a human mindset. For keeping humans, the same principle applies." __Dirwen was bent low over a yellowish scroll, eyes narrowed in concentration._

_Eragon bit his lip, unsure whether the noble elf would mind him asking more. After a short period of hesitation he gave it a try. "And what does this mean for Murtagh? How will you treat him?"_

_Dirwen did not look up. "I will not treat him at all, young human. Other elves will, those that are concerned with the dealings of the present." He was was still reading while answering. "You worry not. The cage will hold him in place. No one destroys a device of elven craftsmanship, not even a demon. You are safe now."_

_Eragon was not sure what a demon was, but decided to leave the multitasker alone nevertheless, not wanting to be rude. He had no idea about the customs of elves, and the day had given him more than enough to ponder about. _

_He tiptoed from the room, retreated to the chamber appointed to him, and lay down on a bed which had a frame made of living wood. He looked up at the ceiling, which likewise consisted of living wood, and a long sigh escaped him. Just when his life had had some sort of structure again it was all messed up anew. This time, it had been in the form of three elves appearing out of the blue at the horses' and his side. And now Eragon found himself guest in this strange city, while Murtagh was confined to a tiny cage outside, not even protected from the elements. What if it rained that night? No one would care, Eragon had already learned that. Everyone only worried about him, Eragon, thinking he was afraid of Murtagh_…

_He __snorted quietly. Murtagh would not be a threat for him again, so much he knew. Whether it was his gut telling him, his intuition, his heart – he did not know. But he felt safe with the older one nonetheless. _

Eragon had been upset about the treatment granted to Murtagh right away. When he had made a comment about it, though, the elves had laughed at him, saying he should be grateful that he had survived unscathed until they had arrived. _But still…_ Ever since Eragon had first laid eyes on his former travel mate… acquaintance… companion?… in the tiny cage, the picture had not left his mind. He could not explain how it fit with what the elves were telling him about their way of living. _Maybe I'll learn more in the days to come._

An unfamiliar scene beneath the tree in the distance had Eragon stop pondering. He blinked, twice, to make sure that he was truly seeing it. Murtagh, who was always so impassive, so drowsy whenever Eragon looked, was now glowering at Vanir's back until the elf had vanished in his homestead. Only a few minutes later, when Vanir did not reappear, did Murtagh's head fall back again against the wooden bars and he closed his eyes – but not before looking for the fraction of a second in Eragon's direction.

Eragon raised a hand in greeting, but it was too late to be noticed. He slowly let out the breath he was holding. _That glare meant for Vanir… has it happened before? Does it mean that Murtagh doesn't like him?_

He directed his steps away from the sparring ground, the place of his shame. Suddenly he blushed. _If he has actually watched me here, he__ must think I'm the greatest dork alive! I can't fight – at all! _He walked faster to bring as many trees as possible between him and the cage.

Only some time later another idea hit him._ Or maybe_… _maybe Murtagh is siding with me, thinking Vanir's methods to be the problem_? In that case, Murtagh would be the only other person besides Eragon who felt that way. _Or is this just something I wish? _Eragon had no clue.

His feet had turned on their own in the direction of what he called the 'food quarter' of Ellesméra. At least, he knew he only had to show up looking hungry, and there would be a swarm of people – mostly women – prepared to offer him the best they had. Which was always tasty. Strange, but tasty, although he would not mind some meat for once. The elves were all vegetarians.

"Eragon!"

Eragon's head jerked up and he smiled. "Arya Svit-Kona." He bowed lightly, his bad training session and Murtagh momentarily forgotten.

"Are you going to eat something?" the female elf asked pleasantly.

"Uh… yes. But I'm not very hungry."

Her eyes were twinkling. "Yes you are. Why don't we eat something together? I know where they have the best pastries…"

A few minutes later they were bathing in sunlight, sitting on a soft spot of grass a few feet away from any 'buildings'. Eragon was certain that now when he knew where the real good food was he would visit that particular place more often. "Delicias."

"_Delicious_," Arya corrected softly.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "What for? You are learning incredibly fast. You are allowed to make mistakes."

Eragon picked at some crumbs in his lap to make sure he missed nothing of the amazing fruit cake and to gain time. It always took him longer than usual to say something in Arya's presence. "But… this is only common tongue. I can't speak elvish. Everybody must change only for me."

"Eragon, nobody cares. And," she leaned in conspiratorially, "they always switch back once you're out of earshot." With a clear little laugh she leaned back again, tilting her head so that her face was fully exposed to the sun.

"Oh," Eragon said again and smiled nervously. True, he had been welcomed here, and the elves had been convinced quickly that he was an innocent bystander, that only a cruel trick of fate had thrown him in Murtagh's path. Once that had made the round, they had been friendly – but they never stopped treating him like a little, unknowing child. Only Arya tried to really get to know him; she saw that his 'flaws' were not due to a lack of ability, but instead to lack of knowledge. That was why he loved her visits. Or it was at least part of why he loved those visits.

He shyly glanced at her now, marvelling at her unmarred beauty. Her good mood made her even more attractive. Never had he seen a woman so beautiful, and never before had the other gender started this strange feeling in his stomach, the feeling which he normally only got when looking at handsome guys…

Arya cut into his musings. "Where did we leave off the last time?"

"Shur'tugal!" Eragon's odd mood was gone the second he remembered. He had learned quite a bit by now about Alagaësia; this, however, was his favourite topic.

"Ah, yes. I wanted to tell you about them. So… where you are from there are no dragons or Riders?"

_Do planes and pilots count?_ "No. No Riders. No dragons." Eragon thought he had an idea what those creatures were like, but he still had to see one. "But I know some things already."

"Do you?" Arya asked sceptically, watching him with interest. "You've only been with Murtagh… Did _he_ tell you?"

"Yes, he did. Well, a little bit." Eragon did not like the expression that briefly crossed her face. They had not spoken much about Murtagh, but he was aware that there were many things that he was in fact _not_ aware of. "Do you want to hear what?"

Arya waved a hand, a somewhat forced smile on her lips. "Sure. It'll be interesting."

"Well… he has telled me about history, he has said there were many Shur'tugals a long time ago and that they… err… governed? Ruled?"

"Both."

"Err, yes, they did so with peace and Alagaësia was… uhm… thriving? Thriving. But then came the evil king Galbatorix and… did something bad with them, and in the end all died. Only the king and for a time some followers were there and the country was suffering. However, a little while ago a new dragon ha- hat- … was born, so now there's a Rider again. He's with the king. But there's a big conflict between the king and you, the elves, and… uhm… _Varden_ – whatever that is – and the Rider is not sure what to do, and therefore the people are still suffering." Eragon took a deep breath and closed his eyes. _That must have been the longest I've ever talked in this language_…_ probably with tons of mistakes!_ Some moments passed before he noticed Arya's lack of reaction and he looked at her, only to find her sitting ramrod straight, her mouth partly open and her eyes wide. "Arya? What's wrong?" he asked tentatively, hoping that he had not messed up somehow without wanting to.

"_Murtagh?_" she croaked, then cleared her throat. "Murtagh told you that?" She shook her head in bewilderment.

"…Yes," Eragon answered after a while, sensing that he was ready to jump to Murtagh's defence. He had loved it when the warrior had told him about all these matters. It was the best fantasy stories come to life – only better. "Why?"

She would not answer yet. "_Murtagh_ has said the king is evil?"

"Yes."

"Tss." Arya half laughed. "And he has said there is now one Rider out there besides the king?"

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" _Do I speak Chinese?_ "He has said what I telled you!" he snapped, before pressing a hand to his mouth. "Sorry."

Arya shook her head and her usual friendly smile was back, although thoughts were clearly racing behind her eyes. "No, _I _am sorry. You surprised me there. Listen, Eragon. As you know, there are things I can't tell you, but this is not one of them. Everybody knows. Your former… shall we say travel mate?… is that Rider. He, Murtagh, is the king's top man, Eragon. They are the enemy. For the sake of a peaceful Alagaësia, neither one can live, because they truly are evil."

Eragon opened his mouth and then shut it again, the process repeating itself several times. He had stopped paying close attention after a certain word: Rider. "Murtagh is a _Rider_?"

Arya nodded.

"Murtagh… has a dragon?"

"Correct."

_Wow_… _so Murtagh is usually riding on top of some huge, clawed lizard, and talking to it, of all things? How utterly, totally cool!_

"That is why we lock him up, even though his magic is blocked. But he is an incredible fighter, so we have to take extra measures; I know that he knows more ways of escaping than other humans, it's important that…" she carried on, but it never reached the ears of her audience.

_Magic. Right._ Murtagh had also told him a little about magic, but never had he said that _he_ was able to perform it. Yet he had also explained that all Riders could do so because of their dragons. Now that Eragon thought about it… Murtagh had always lit the fires at night faster than should have been possible, and that one time when Eragon had tried to run away… _Magic! Awesome!_

"Eragon?" Arya had cocked her head and was studying him. "Are you listening to me?"

"I…err… I'm sorry, I was a little… not there." Eragon forced himself to return his attention to the female elf, and he found that it was easier than expected. _I think I have a thing going for black hair_…

Arya nodded, apparently reaching a decision. "Listen. There is something we have to do. I had not thought this would be necessary so soon; I had wanted to grant you a little more time to get accustomed to us."

The words sent goosebumps to Eragon's arms. "Necessary?" he echoed, "_what_ is necessary?"

Arya smiled anew. "I do not mean to scare you. It's only that our elders want to speak to you, ask a few questions, and I had figured that hearing this would be intimidating."

_Good guess._ "A bit." Maybe he was not considered an innocent bystander after all? Maybe they had just known right away how absolutely helpless he was and had not bothered to lock him up? "Your elders? Does that include your queen?" Cold sweat was breaking out on his skin.

"Yes, that includes our Queen Islanzadí. Don't panic, Eragon!" Arya took hold of one of his hands and stroked it lightly. "I would have spared you some days, but I did not know that you have actually talked to Murtagh."

"Of course we talked! We travelled together for, I think, about four weeks."

"Murtagh doesn't normally speak to strangers… but apparently not in your case. You might have learned something of importance. Therefore you have to talk to the elders today. The sooner the better."

Eragon swallowed hard. "Today? Sure… I mean, it's my duty, right?"

Arya did not answer and instead rose to her feet and pulled Eragon along.

"Now?" Eragon basically squeaked and clung to the hand holding his right. "We're going _now_? How- Will they… will they be there?"

"They are expecting us." Arya smiled like only a person could that was in on a secret.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"Welcome, Eragon, you who you are so far from you home!"

Giving in to his wobbly legs, Eragon sank down on one knee and bowed his head. His tongue was glued to his mouth and would not move.

"You don't have to kneel, young man. Let us see your beautiful face!" the friendly but at the same time authoritative voice demanded.

Blushing lightly Eragon looked up, only to blush even more. He was in one corner of the great hall, although there were no walls, and the 'chairs' – or rather, the over-dimensional petals that could be used as such – were almost outside in the glade and not under the tree roof anymore. On top of those chairs were three elves awaiting him, but he would not have been able yet to describe their features to anyone, as he only dared to fleetingly look at them.

What made him forget to breathe, though, and had his cheeks burning, was the tall woman standing right in front of him, clad in a dark brown dress and a cape of swan feathers. Queen Islanzadí, he knew right away. Her hair was black, as Arya's, and her eyes, too, were of the same colour as those of the elf standing at Eragon's side. _Perhaps they are related,_ he thought briefly. At least they were of rivalling beauty.

"Hello…" he said tentatively before squeezing his eyes shut. He had not just used that greeting with the queen of all elves, had he?

One of the elves chuckled quietly, and when Eragon opened his eyes again he found the other two frowning. Queen Islanzadí, however, seemed not to mind and invited him to sit down with her.

Eragon stumbled to the petal indicated, which was half facing the others, noticing with regret that Arya remained behind. He hoped that he would be able to answer all their questions quickly, but also in a way that would not increase the obvious elven dislike for Murtagh. With a very deep breath he tried to concentrate, silently forbidding both the common tongue and his brain to fail him at this crucial moment.

"Arya has told us that Murtagh has spoken to you. We need to know what he has said." The oldest looking elf – if any elf could possibly look _old_ – got right to the point. Apparently he was in no mood to make it easier on their guest.

"All?" Eragon gulped. "I mean," he cleared his throat, "we travelled for weeks. I don't remember every day."

"He has talked to you _every_ day?" the elf closest to Eragon, a woman with long brown hair, asked with obvious disbelief.

"Err… yes." _Just as every normal human being would_, he added quietly. "Well, not on the days that _I_ did not talk to _him_."

"Explain!" ordered the queen, exchanging meaningful looks with the others, eyes lingering on Arya for a moment before they came to rest on Eragon again.

Eragon thought quickly, taking his own feelings into account. Did he want these people to know that Murtagh had hurt him? _Definitely not_. _Another answer, then_. "I could not speak in the beginning. I did not know this language." He was surprised how easy and convincing the half-truth passed his lips.

"He's from far away," Arya cut in, stopping the so far quiet elf from interrupting. "I'll explain later, if you want me to. It is of no importance for this matter."

Eragon smiled at her gratefully. She had truly become a close ally in these few days.

"What has he told you?" the oldest elf insisted.

"He…" Eragon actually thought back for the first time. What _had_ they talked about? He only remembered that he had liked the conversations. The voice. The body sharing a horse with him. "He has tel- _told_ me a lot about the area we travelled in… travelled through. Not about you. I mean, not about elves. He only told me about… well, you… later. After two weeks, I think. Before, he explained the country to me, the animals and… other things. And he told me many stories. For example, there was a hill in the forest, I don't remember the name, and he said that many years ago there was a battle on that hill, and he told me about that battle." Eragon fell quiet, his mouth dry. By now he knew that both the elves and Murtagh were playing important parts in this huge political something that was going on in Alagaësia, but he had no idea how the things he could recall would make any difference.

"Murtagh has told him that there is a new Rider, a Rider in the service of the king, but that this Rider was not decided on a course of action or even his loyalty," Arya added quietly to Eragon's report.

This, apparently, was of greater importance.

Queen Islanzadí and the woman with the brown hair stood up so quickly that Eragon flinched. All five elves present started speaking rapidly in their own tongue, and for Eragon it was only one big mass of sound, reminding him of heated government discussions he had once seen on TV. Each elf, however, seemed to actually understand what the others were saying. Thus for a while he just sat there, watching them, the uneasy feeling in his stomach not lessening.

"Eragon! Do you know why Murtagh made you travel with him?" The queen was speaking once more in the common tongue, and the others were immediately quiet.

"I'm not sure." _After deciding that I am completely unimportant he wanted to fuck me, but eventually refrained from doing so and I kissed him because I like him._ "He did not know who I was at first, what I was, my position, and then… I think he liked me company." Eragon knew he was blushing _again_, so he looked to the ground.

A shrill, short laughter broke free from the only person who had remained standing the entire time. "No. That can't be it. He does not like _anybody_."

"Arya is right, Eragon," the oldest elf agreed. "Think back, please. Could there be no other reason?"

Eragon looked at the man, finding some comfort in the friendly tone. He shrugged. "I think at first he thought I was a messenger. Which I am not. And then he thought I was a slave… which I am not, too. I… hmm… I'm sorry, I think that's all I know."

"How strange…" the man commented. "You're an odd little human, even to our eyes there is something about you… I wonder if Murtagh has seen that as well."

Eragon was immediately on his guard again. _Now what does that mean? I am only… me, after all. What do they think they're seeing?_ He probably _was_ different from all other humans in Alagaësia, if someone bothered to compare the curriculum vitae. _Will they want to study me or anything?_ He quickly looked at Arya, who winked and smiled warmly, reassuring him without words, at least partly dismissing his worries.

"We will ponder further about this later today," the queen decided. "Now, Eragon. Do you think there might be more of importance that he has told you? Use your own judgement."

Eragon thought for another moment. "Perhaps… there are two names he has said. There was one in the beginning, and then I heard something and told him, and he said some things about the person and has often said the name again…" He fell silent. _What if including these strangers' names will bring any harm to them?_ He did not want to be responsible for that. _And what if mentioning these names was bad for Murtagh?_ A chill crept down his spine.

"What names?" the brown haired woman asked impatiently.

_Too late, idiot. Start thinking first!_ "Durza-"

All elves jumped up in agitation.

"… and Brom," Eragon added sheepishly, shrinking on his chair.

It took some time until he could get his information across, which was for one that Murtagh had not really said anything about Durza, except nearly spitting that name out a few times in the beginning, and that the name Brom had surprised Murtagh very much and that he had wondered about the man's activities.

Soon after Eragon had finished explaining, the elves completely forgot about him; even for Arya he seemed to be thin air. He felt more out of place than he had in weeks, so he simply crouched on his petal and half-listened to the melodious elven language. Eventually he let his thoughts roam freely.

What he would give to be back on the road again with Murtagh, even if it was only a path in the woods with no certain destination! Just riding from sunup till sundown as they had for so many days, sharing their meals, Murtagh telling him stories… Yet Eragon now knew that the warrior – _the Rider _– had kept a lot from him, and he had no clue how this would change their strange… relationship. _But do I even want it to change anything? __And does it matter what I want? It's not like I'll see him anytime soon._

"Eragon?"

He blinked and straightened up when Islanzadí addressed him once more. "Yes?"

"I must apologize, we're not living up to our standards of hospitality. This must be very tiring for you." Her voice was considerable more warm and friendly than it had been during the elven debate. "For today, we have learned enough from you and you're dismissed. Arya will accompany you to Dirwen, but won't be able to stay for long. We will need her to plan our next interrogation of Murtagh."

Eragon stopped in the middle of standing up and slowly sank back down. "Interrogation?" he echoed almost soundlessly. He had the very strong feeling that questioning Murtagh was a different matter from what he had just experienced. What had he told the elves? Was it something leading to pain for Murtagh? _Oh no…_

"Young one, worry not." The queen of the elves regarded him with kindness. "Your concern for another human honours you, yet you do not know Murtagh. Worry not."

"I don't know if I know him," Eragon mumbled. "I just… he looked after me. I owe him." He clearly remembered the feeling of safety Murtagh had given him – unconsciously – after his dream with the horrible man in it. He shook his head. _They would not understand, no matter how well I could speak_. He rose to his feet and turned in the direction of Arya waiting for him.

"We do respect your feelings, but they are not needed here. But tell me, Eragon…"

Again the words of the queen stopped him, and Eragon turned back around to face her. "Yes, of course… What, exactly?"

"I would not ask this if I knew you felt uncomfortable about it. However, for a reason that I cannot understand, you don't seem to mind the time you have spent with Murtagh. Am I correct?"

"Oh." Scenes flashed in his head, scenes of his first day in Alagaësia with Murtagh close to killing him, then the cruel beating, the non-consensual sex that never happened… How come he did indeed _not_ feel uncomfortable thinking of Murtagh? _Because apart from those incidents, I have spent weeks with a very nice guy, _Eragon answered his own question right away._ I've kissed a very nice guy. Those lips… _"No. I like Murtagh." Some of the elves shook their head and Arya behind him sighed, but he did not care. Being entitled to his own opinion was one of the basic principles he had grown up with.

The queen's smile was not as genuine anymore, but she controlled her voice better. "Then why don't you visit him?"

Eragon's mouth dropped open. "I… I may?"

Islanzadí shot a very sharp look at Arya. "Yes, you may. You could have visited him any time… except when we were interrogating him, of course."

Eragon only nodded. So far, whenever he had seen important looking elves moving in Murtagh's direction, there had also always been another elf at his side suddenly, talking to him, taking him somewhere to see something. Apparently it was not for him to watch what precisely they did to Murtagh. _But I can ask him about his treatment when I visit him!_ Thinking of the future sent a small wave of relief through his body, but it immediately died when another thought occurred to him. _Does he know he was allowed visitors the entire time? And I didn't go! Shit! _

"The human could ask him about Durza and Brom." The elf that had not previously addressed Eragon now spoke in the common tongue for the first time, gesturing with one hand in his direction.

_What? He wants me to spy? _

The idea caused immediate silence and sent Eragon into a state of shock.

"Excellent!" Arya clapped her hands once, atypically grinning. The others were likewise excited, and Queen Islanzadí stepped close to Eragon and laid her hands on his shoulders. "The more information, the better. This is a great chance for you to contribute to our cause."

Eragon knew his eyes were bulging. _They all agree with that one elf's idea?_ He could not quite bring his head to nod.

"You're dismissed!" Islanazdí's voice now held a lot of authority, causing Eragon to bow and stumble away, following Arya. His mind was momentarily blank, his heart heavy.

Arya took his hand again the second they were away from the elders. "Don't look as if we have condemned you to death. That's not _your_ destiny."

"What does that mean?" Eragon asked quietly, sensing a new threat ahead.

Arya refrained from answering until they reached the opposite side of the great hall and were shielded from curious eyes by an oversized leaf acting as a screen. "Murtagh is a murderer, Eragon." She stopped in her tracks to look him intently in the eyes. "He has killed dozens of elves and uncountable humans. Some cannot be allowed to live a life like the one you apparently have in mind for him. Some do not deserve life."

_He_…_ what? _Not for the first time that day Eragon's legs seemed too weak for his body. "I don't know what I have in mind. It's… I think it's all a bit much for me."

"Yes, of course it is," Arya hurried to assure him, "no one understands that better than I do. Let me guide you home. You need to rest and think about all that you've heard and learned today." She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Eragon shuddered and shook his head to rid it of the pictures forming, pictures of Murtagh with swords not only drawn but also bloody. "But… do elves not kill in war?"

Arya cocked her head. "Well, yes, of course. Sadly one of the things defining war are the many deaths that go along with it."

"But then… why is Murtagh evil?" Technically he would call any murderer that, but he was not quite warming up to Arya's argumentation.

"Oh, Eragon!" She laughed once more, and the merry sound brought some warmth back into his body. "You are too young, too inexperienced to understand. You will over time, trust me. One day, you will understand."

_Will I? _Eragon found himself torn between the two different Arya's that he had gotten to know. On the one hand was her amiable, friendly self when they were talking about Alagaësia or when she explained to him the many facets of elven life. Her beautiful self. Then there was her irritated and to Eragon's eyes not explicable self when it came to Murtagh. _All those comments she makes…_

Slowly he nodded. "You're probably right. One day I'll understand."

"You'll see. All will be well in the end. And once the issues that trouble the world these days are settled, we will try to find your way home. You don't have to worry about anything." Her expression turned solemn. "But I already know that I will miss you, Eragon. Something about you is special, something is hidden within you… a promise… I wish we had more time."

Eragon was smiling in response to her words although he did not really want to. Whenever she was like this, she was irresistible, and her mentioning his home… He had once asked Murtagh about going back, and the warrior had only shrugged it off with a snort. Eragon preferred Arya's attitude very much. "Uhm… thank you." _What do I say now?_ "You know that I don't know your people much… but you're my favourite person of them." He knew it was true the moment he said it.

An impish smile made Arya almost look his age. "I bet you're of noble blood where you're from, Eragon. You know how to make a woman feel good."

Eragon felt himself blush for the umpteenth time that day and nearly tripped when they emerged from the great hall. "I-I on-only try." Perhaps the one thing that he was less experienced in than guys flirting with him was when the opposite gender did it. His mother had once warned him of what she called 'the magic of women', and when he had come out of the closet she had admitted freely to be relieved. _Which I have done why again_? At that moment, he had no idea.

"You're good at trying," Arya whispered. "You're so _different_, Eragon." Without warning, she pulled him close and crushed her mouth to his, and her tongue raced along his lips, wanting more.

Eragon's heart missed more than one beat and a rush of blood raced through his veins. But he reacted as if he had never done anything else, expected anything less: he kissed her back passionately for long seconds.

Eventually Arya broke free, and with a smile she pulled him along in the direction of Dirwen's homestead. Her glance only left him for a second to briefly look at some place behind him. When her attention returned, Eragon noticed how her happiness had increased even more. "Whatever it is that is hidden within you," she remarked cryptically, "it sure has its effects."

Curious, Eragon quickly turned around, too – and froze. _You idiot! You fucking idiot! _

Behind him, unnoticed so far, Murtagh was standing upright in his cage, hands wrought tightly around the bars, knuckles white. His face, paler than usual, was transformed into a nasty grimace. His eyes, though, showed something different, and Eragon saw it clearly even across the distance.

Those eyes only conveyed one message: betrayal. Then there was a mood shift and… sadness.


	7. There's a way to do better find it

**A/N: **I'm aware that actual, successful problem solving looks different from what the guys are doing in this chapter. Usually, there should be some sort of result or conclusion in the end. Here, though… The way I imagine Eragon and Murtagh is that they might very well be inclined to talk about issues, but more with the intent of getting their points across, not so much wanting to empathize with the other's reasons. I think they're both quite stubborn, and once they've made up their mind about a problem and the possible solution, compromises are not really what they're looking for. It's a behaviour pattern I've often come across, and usually it only changes if an "affected" person truly cares about another person, the latter than being able to get the former to listen and sometimes even to drastically reconsider his standpoint. But the guys in question are obviously not quite there yet.

Apart from that, I hope you're all celebrating as you should, and as next Thursday is already the 1st, I hereby wish you all the best for the new year!

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

_malthinae_: to bind. However, lacking the grammar rules of the Ancient Language, I used it a bit freely, i.e. as an imperative. May CP's wrath pass me by unnoticed!

_skulblaka_: dragon

* * *

**There's a way to do better... find it - Thomas Edison**

**Chapter 7**

18th Grain Moon

* * *

Life was unfair, but now at least it had stopped deceiving him.

Try as he might, Murtagh could not avert his gaze from the scene playing out not far away: a very uncomfortable looking Eragon was trying to drag a very smug Arya away, looking anywhere but in Murtagh's direction. In the end, Arya gave up her mock resistance and followed willingly, a sexy smile playing around her lips.

_Leave him alone!_ Murtagh thought fervently. _Leave him alone, witch!_ To him, it was inexplicable how Arya had coaxed Eragon into intimacy so soon. _Intimacy as in having him kiss back passionately,_ Murtagh reminded himself, seeing it repeated in his head. _He did not kiss _me_ like that! _So all he was left with was the realization that he had been wrong – again. Eragon remained unpredictable. Four weeks of travelling together had not changed a thing.

He let go of the bars and sank down into a halfway comfortable sitting position with his head resting against the side of the cage.

Of course he had been betrayed before, but in the last decade or so he had always expected at least the possibility of it. It was unbelievable how much more it hurt when it came as a surprise, and when he had previously allowed hope to rise.

_Stupid me. What is there to like about me__?_

Gradually his sadness was replaced by anger. Anger about Eragon, anger about the elves, and, most of all, anger about himself. Soon Murtagh was so mad that he got up again and tried to pace in the little cage. _If only I had behaved differently from the start! _If he had found out sooner that Eragon knew indeed nothing of this world and its habits, he could have spared him some unnecessary cruelty. He could have been _nice_. These days he knew that he was actually capable of being so, the kiss had proven that-

The kiss had proven nothing.

Eragon, on the other hand, had demonstrated early on that he was intelligent. And somehow he must have figured out how to breach Murtagh's defences, how to trigger the protective instinct and the emotions of which existence Murtagh himself had not even been aware of… _What a fool I__'ve been!_ He had escaped more than one powerful madman in his life, but now he had been caught like a rabbit in a trap because his thoughts had been full of someone that had only used him. _Good that Thorn isn't around!_ In that case, his dragon would free him eventually, of course, but would make sure to mock him beforehand. _As for Eragon… _The measures the young man had taken made perfect sense, Murtagh had to admit, and he also figured that he would have done the same in the other's situation – though probably not half as convincing.

Knowing this, however, did not lessen the pain. Not at all.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

The sun was already sending long, orange rays through the trees when the constant stream of low murmur became excited and joyful. The elves, Murtagh knew, were preparing for their evening pastimes, which consisted of music and poetry readings. It was the same routine every night, and he had gotten used to it quickly.

Tonight, though, something was different.

Murtagh smirked, acutely aware of the person a few yards behind him: male, too clumsy for an elf, too afraid to come near. Eragon had been half circling the cage for almost an hour, trying to be invisible among the trees, but failing to do so for Murtagh's trained senses.

The anger of the previous day had long since evaporated, leaving behind an empty space that was longing to be filled. Longing for Eragon, Murtagh had realized at one point, although he could not stand that fact. If he was to decide, Arya could go straight to eternal damnation for what she had brought about. Still, he would like to talk to Eragon. _Perhaps there even is an explana- __No!_ _There is none!_ But for some reason the other had come, and his presence was very much preferable to the horrible boredom – and it could keep Murtagh's unease concerning the next interrogation at bay.

Thus he leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and evened out his breathing. He had a feeling that Eragon might approach if he thought him sleeping, and so far, the younger one had always been easy to fool. True enough, it did not take long until he heard hesitant footsteps nearing and stopping a little distance away, and eventually Eragon sat down with a little sigh.

Peeping through lidded eyes, Murtagh saw that the other was leaning against the cage with his back to him. Eragon's hands were busy fiddling with a little stick, bending it and peeling at its bark. Part of Murtagh urged him to extend one hand, to make contact and try to calm the other, but he had long since learned to control his body and knew better. So he only waited a little more, watching the crouched figure, until at length he drawled, "I'm not sleeping."

Eragon nearly jumped out of his skin and turned around in a flash, his eyes wide.

Murtagh chuckled quietly. "I can hear your heart beat… it's racing. Easy now." _It'll get difficult soon enough._

Eragon forced a little smile and Murtagh saw goosebumps on the other's skin. Then the younger one struggled for some time until any words left his mouth. "How are you?" he finally asked meekly.

_Great question_… Murtagh only snorted.

Eragon bit his lip and looked away. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"What for? For asking so stupid a question? Or might you even be sorry for fucking Arya?"

Eragon's head snapped back. "_What_?"

_Righteous indignation? __Curse you, Eragon! _"So you know the word… I wonder where you've learned it. I never told you. And elves don't use it – normally."**  
**

Eragon only glared at him without explaining himself. "Why are you like this?" he asked after a while. "Why are you such… such an _arse-whole_?"

"Don't act as if that's a surprise!" Murtagh grunted. "I've told you before. It's who I am." But for the first time the words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"But you-"

"No, Eragon! I am bad! Cruel! They aren't wrong about that. There's many a flaw in elven logic, but compared to normal moral standards, I am no good." _This is why you having sex with Arya does not affect me at all, of course. I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine.  
_

Eragon shook his head, looking less angry but rather disappointed. "I came to explain that- Well, never mind." He poked his stick into the ground and shoved some earth away, then threw it to the side and folded his hands. "Do you know what your words do? Do you… do you care?"

"Usually not," Murtagh answered without hesitation, shrugging. He decided to pass the initiative back to Eragon, but when the other kept quiet, Murtagh's curiosity won the better of him. "What did you want to explain?"**  
**

"You want to know?" Eragon snorted and looked away. "I… I _wanted_ to say that I'm sorry, that I didn't mean it. Wanted, not want. I know the difference."

Murtagh did not reply. How often had he heard _that_.

"You should say something."

_Should I? Wouldn't that make you feel better, though?_ "…What didn't you mean?"

"The kiss!" Eragon said like a shot. "It just… happened! I didn't want that you see it!"

_As if. _Murtagh only wished for Eragon to shut up. "What now?" he asked icily. "Did you not want it to happen, or did you not want me to see it. Or, wait, you're going to tell me that you did not stand a chance against Arya. Are you saying that what I've seen was not what truly happened?"

"Don't!" Eragon stood up and began walking around, his hands clenching into fists. "Don't do this! You make the words all wrong. I know that I speak this language good enough-"

"_Well_ enough."

Eragon stopped in his tracks and stared at Murtagh, anger creeping back in his eyes. "Enough, I'm leaving," he whispered. "I'm not talking to you! Not like this!" Making a pointedly snotty face, he raised his voice. "I hate that cage, but… but right now I'm happy that _I_ can leave and _you_ must stay!" He turned on his heels, squared his shoulders, and hurried away.

_No! All but not that!_ Murtagh felt his throat go dry and he jumped to his feet. "Wait!" he called.

No reaction.

"Don't go!"

Still Eragon walked on, albeit lessening his pace.

_Don't leave me so soon. __I didn't mean it. _"I'll listen!" Murtagh nearly shouted now to cover the distance.

Eragon halted, but did not turn around.

Murtagh licked his lips, hesitating.

After a moment, Eragon started moving again, his head hanging.

"Please," Murtagh whispered, but he could hardly hear it himself. "Please!" he repeated, this time calling it. He did not want to scream the word.

He did not have to.

Eragon threw him a long, questioning glance before hesitantly returning. He sat back down, although nowhere near the cage this time. "You confuse me," he admitted freely.

"I confuse myself," Murtagh conceded just as freely, remaining upright. "I'm not so good a listener. But I'll try. I won't interrupt you." _Just stay, please!_

Eragon tilted his head to the side and regarded him for a while. "Yesterday… Arya kissed me. And I kissed her back. We did _not_ have _secks_."

It was simply too good to be true, and Murtagh could not refrain from commenting, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Sure."

"Murtagh!" There was a definite warning in both voice and expression.

Murtagh closed his eyes. Why could he bite back any response when he was around the king? Why was it impossible to do so now? Eragon mattered so much more… "Sorry," he whispered, breaking his personal record of times using this word in one day. While he did not dare to open his eyes, the rest of his body was alert, waiting to detect any change indicating that Eragon stood up. He never sensed a thing.

"What, exactly, is your problem?" Eragon sounded more curious than anything else. "Is it Arya? Or is it that I kiss somebody? The thought that I sleep with somebody?" His voice… was it smug? When there was no answer, Eragon continued. "When I saw that you… that you saw everything… I knew the kiss was wrong. I don't want to kiss her again. And I want that I learned this without… hurting you."

Murtagh did not trust his hearing. Eragon sounded completely sincere. "May I speak?" He finally opened his eyes and slumped down, watching Eragon, who held his gaze.

"Yes. I told you what I wanted to tell."

"You should know that I know Arya." The words turned bitter. "She means trouble for us men."

"That is not true! She is very nice! She understands me better than the other elves. She has explained so much."

Murtagh smirked. "That is one side of her. There is another one, too, but I can imagine what face she is showing you. The understanding elf, the one who is not belittling you, who is not like, say, Vanir. I can also imagine that you're quite appealing to her."

Eragon frowned and shook his head. "What makes you think this? Do you know her goo- well? Why do you not like her? I mean… she hates you, too. Why?"

"Yes, I know her well. And I don't like her. The reason for both you've already guessed weeks ago."

"Huh?" Eragon's eyebrows shot up, and confusion left his mouth partly open.

_So__ gorgeous!_ _If only he meant what he has said about the kiss…_ "Think back."

"Wait…" Eragon put an index finger to his lips and it immediately began drumming. "Oh." It stopped. "_Oh_! The elf woman? Arya is…? You and _Arya_?"

Murtagh flipped his tongue. "Exactly. I and the princess. A resentful princess on top of that. I was… not young. But younger. Believe me, I know her and I know how charming she can make herself. So… sympathetic. She can give you the feeling that you're very special."

"Princess? Arya is a princess?"

"Have you not noticed her demeanour?"

"Uhm… _deemenour? _All the elves look special to me. I didn't notice that what you said." Eragon briefly displayed a crooked, apologetic smile, then shrugged. "And you and Arya were…?"

"Lovers." Prompted by Eragon's blank expression, Murtagh added, "We had sex. Lots of it."

"Ah." Eragon blushed deeply and stared at his feet, picking up the stick again. "Not more?"

"More?" Murtagh turned his head away. "I'm not made for more, Eragon. Not with Arya nor with anyone else." _Though there's someone I could imagine trying…_

"But…" the younger one began without finishing, seeming quite uncomfortable for some time. "So that was the Arya part," he said eventually. "What about if I kissing someone?" He held his breath.

"If I _kiss _someone…" Murtagh looked at his hands, wishing that he also had a stick to fiddle with. "I did not like that," he admitted quietly, lightly scratching the scales of one of his boots.

Eragon did not react until he had Murtagh's attention back. "But why … why are you…?" He waved a hand, obviously missing a word. "Why do you want to decide what I do? You never told me, but… am I your prisoner?" Eragon looked pointedly at the cage and suppressed a giggle.

To his surprise, Murtagh realized that he had never thought about this. It had simply been clear that the younger one would accompany him as long as Murtagh wanted, because… _Because I like him_. "No you're not." _Because I like him, I will let him go._ For a brief second Murtagh remembered what Tornac had told him about his mother, and about the treatment Morzan had granted her. _I am not him!_

"Then why?" Eragon shifted closer.

Murtagh briefly considered telling Eragon the truth, but decided otherwise. Eragon would gain too much power if he knew, and that could not be afforded. Murtagh had to bury the hope of _their_ kiss once and for all. "Have they not told you that I don't like anybody and am impossible to like?" His voice was cold and hard, effectively hiding what it looked like inside of him at that moment. "For once do as I tell you and believe them in this!"

Sadness coloured Eragon's eyes a shade darker, but in the end he nodded. Whether it was a confirmation of the statement or not, Murtagh could not guess.

They were quiet for a long time, sitting in an uncomfortable silence. Daylight was completely gone by now, but Ellesméra was never dark. A faint, unnatural twilight illuminated the space between the trees, making it possible for both of them to see each other's faces very clearly.

"I don't like the way they're keeping you," Eragon said after a long time.

"I don't, either," Murtagh agreed and they exchanged a little smile. "… Can you stay a little?"

"Yes. There is no one here who sends me to bed." Eragon's expression suddenly turned very melancholy, but then it was back to neutral in an instant. "Do you… want to talk?"

"I'd like to."

"…What about?"

Murtagh thought that everybody except Eragon must know that he was the last person to be asked such a question like. The thought amused him – and somehow the other asking warmed his heart. "Perhaps… how are you, Eragon? I never meant for all this to happen, I did not want to be caught… I see Vanir grants you some love every day?"

Eragon snorted. "Vanir is… I don't like him. And I spend too much time with him. But the others are very nice, very kind."

"Not like me, eh?"

Eragon ignored him. Instead, he cocked his head and scrutinized Murtagh for a while. Then his face lit up as if the sun had just risen. "You're the Rider! Ar- Somebody told me about you. You're the person _you_ told me about. You are a Shur'tugal!"

"Aye. I'm _the_ Rider." Murtagh smiled at the childlike excitement. "Who told you that? Arya? What else has she told you? That I eat infants for breakfast? That I turn into a demon at night?"

"Murtagh!"

Murtagh raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. "I can't help myself, I don't especially like these people. And they don't like me – it's mutual. Which is too bad," he quickly carried on before Eragon could interrupt, "because otherwise they don't lock their prisoners up like this and I could take part in your training. Vanir is a bastard." _Safe terrain._

Some heat might have been rising in Eragon's cheeks, but it was hard to tell in the grey light. "So… you do watch my sparring?" He threw Murtagh a shy glance.

"Yes, indeed I do. There isn't much else to occupy myself with here." _And there are things I do not want to think about, matters best to be forgotten. _Murtagh swallowed._ I wonder when next they will come for me…_ "I've trained many a man, Eragon. You're not nearly as hopeless as he makes it seem."

"Really?"

"If I ever get out here with time and a sword at my hands, and you near, I will show you."

"Thank you," Eragon murmured. Soon his pondering expression was back and quickly after another smile graced his lips. "You have a dragon, too!" His eyes were sparkling.

Murtagh chuckled. "Tell that Thorn and you are a head shorter. Yes, I am a Rider, but I don't _have_ a dragon, instead a dragon hatched for me. After that, your dragon and you are soul mates. It's not as it is with a horse… speaking of which: have you been riding? Have you seen my horse?"

"Yes and yes. I'm getting more good, I think. Tornac is fine. They are… well… treating him more good than you." Eragon smiled apologetically.

"_Better_. Not _more good_. And don't you feel bad about the treatment."

"Murtagh, I-"

"No. Don't say anything. It's a conflict between me and the elves, not you. I didn't mean to involve you." Apparently it was impossible to avoid the topic.

Eragon hunched his shoulders. "Can we talk about this without… being mad at each other?" he mumbled. "I told you I'm sorry about-"

Murtagh stopped him with a gesture. "Yes, yes we can."

Eragon nodded slowly. "I… err… do not mean to… go in your privacy, but… they're questioning you? They have told me they do. Are they bad? What will happen to you?"

"It's a long story." Murtagh sighed. " Yes, they are _trying_ to question me, but I have measures to protect my mind. What will happen to me? I'm not sure, to be honest. They will probably inform 'my master' Galbatorix and- Eragon? What's with that look on your face?"

"Nothing, nothing."

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "Eragon…"

Eragon bit his lip. "It's something Arya has said. About what should happen to you."

"Death?" Murtagh guessed right away.

Crestfallen, Eragon nodded.

Murtagh laughed a little and only stopped when he saw the shocked look on the other's face. "It's _Arya_, Eragon. I know she wants me dead. The rest of them, though, is not as mad. Their moral forbids it to kill someone unarmed and at their mercy. In battle, yes, but never a prisoner."

Eragon remained sceptical. "She sounded serious…"

"I can well imagine that she is. But trust me."

"I would like to trust you, I would like that you are right." Eragon leaned back on his elbows. "I think you need to change the hate. Arya, too. It's not good for you or her."

"That might be the case," Murtagh agreed absentmindedly. The little movement of Eragon had caused his hair to meet the light in another angle, and suddenly it looked almost silver… and so soft. _How beautiful!_ Murtagh would have given a lot to touch it at that moment. Instead, all he was left with was to run a hand through his own greasy mane. _I need a bath! I need_… _I need him to bathe with me!_

They were quiet again for so long that after some time Murtagh was only waiting for Eragon to take his leave. When this turned out wrong, however, it did not come as much of a surprise. Murtagh silently conceded complete defeat in terms of interpreting the other. _How_ it turned out, though, had him think he had misunderstood.

It took Eragon apparent effort to get his mouth to speak. And then: "So… What about Durza and Brom? What do you know about them?" He sounded ten years younger than he was. "You never told me much…" The moss next to Eragon's leg seemed to be very interesting.

Too stunned to speak, Murtagh did some thinking first. _This can't be true. They have involved Eragon?_ _How dare they?_ The attempt of the young man, though, was hilarious. Murtagh nearly giggled. _This shall be fun!_ "Yes, I haven't. I thought it would disturb you."

"It won't. I'm old enough."

"They're… you must keep this to yourself! Do you know what a secret is? Aye? Fine, listen." Murtagh leaned towards Eragon, who likewise brought his head closer to the other man. "They're having an affair, but it's not about love, only about physical needs." He was dead serious. "It's very passionate between the two."

Eragon again tugged at moss. "Ah…"

In the last instant Murtagh suppressed bursting out in laughter, which ended in a strange, loud cough. In the distance some elves turned their heads. "Nonsense! Absolute, complete nonsense! You're the worst spy I've ever met, Eragon."

Eragon fell apart, and when his eyes met Murtagh's for a fleeting moment, his were wet. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, half choking on the words. "They asked me… I am their guest, I owe them. And I had thought I could not harm you with it."

For some, this confession would have been unhealthy. In Eragon's case, Murtagh could not stop being amused. Moreover, he was aware that there was no way for Eragon to withstand the elves, and he would not blame him for it. "Your thoughts weren't that wrong," he assured him, "although I do not like being spied upon, especially not by you."

"What shall I do now?" Eragon asked with a helpless shrug.

"Hmm… tell them the following: about Brom, I told you nothing. As for Durza… Tell them he suspects the elves to be responsible for the theft, because he has intercepted one of my sources. Tell them I believe he will soon come to Ellesméra – if he's not already near. Tell them that I consider him to be incredibly strong."

Eragon looked not one ounce better than before. "I cannot lie to them!"

Murtagh extended his hands through the bars and took hold of one of Eragon's. For an instant he allowed himself to rejoice at the contact. "Sadly, I'm not lying." He squeezed the hand lightly. "I am _not_ lying. There's more to it, but the elves might be in danger. Now, you know I don't like them, but Durza… Durza is another matter. He is a monster, Eragon."

Eragon looked at their hands, and then for a long time into Murtagh's eyes, obviously assessing what he had heard. Eventually he nodded. "Can you promise that nothing bad will happen because of this?"

"I do not promise, especially not in these times. But alarming the elves is truly only for their best. Believe me."

"I do." Almost visibly a weight was lifted off Eragon's shoulders and he took one deep breath and straightened up. "I guess… I guess I should go now. I have a lot to think."

Murtagh inclined his head in Eragon's direction. "I can imagine that you do. Go now and rest." It was easier on his lips than it was on his heart.

With a little grunt Eragon rose to his feet and shook his stiff legs. "I can come back whenever I want. Do you… want that?"

"Yes." Murtagh found himself smiling.

Eragon smiled in return. "Good night, Murtagh!"

"Good night!"

Eragon had walked only a yard or two when he halted and turned around, frowning. "They're coming back, too. You know that?"

Murtagh growled quietly. With only so many words Eragon had successfully destroyed his mood. "I have not told them anything yet, so I'm expecting it."

"Does it… hurt? When they ask you?"

"No." Murtagh saw Eragon's features relax. "No, it does not hurt. Go to bed!" To his relief, it remained easy to deceive Eragon. Now that the names of Durza and Brom were out in the open, the next interrogation would be a different matter than those before.

Murtagh's heart grew cold with anxiety while he was watching Eragon disappear in the twilight.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Queen Islanzadí was in front, closely followed by the tall form of the former king, Evandar. Last was Norgia, one of the most powerful spellcaster the elves had. Her presence justified the lousy feeling Murtagh had, the feeling that this time it would get worse.

He groaned inwardly while at the same time gathering himself. The familiar call for his magic ebbed away unanswered. _So be it,_ he thought grimly. After all, he had withstood both his father and, for long years Galbatorix, too, without magic. Yet it had always been painful, and he knew this day would be the same, feeling a strong mind probe his, attempting to invade.

Murtagh swallowed and shifted, presenting the arriving elves a shoulder and not his face. He clenched his slightly shaking hands into fists, determined not to let them see how much their previous visits had already affected him.

"Murtagh," the queen greeted, her tone frosty. "As always, you choose."

Murtagh bowed his head a fraction, and only to the queen, before he looked away again. There had been something in Norgia's eyes that made him shiver. "Milady. I am flattered by your kindness… as always." His tone did not quite agree.

"Your choice?" she asked impatiently.

He grunted. "My mind is my own!"

The elves were not in the least surprised. Norgia exchanged a look with the queen, who nodded, and the spellcaster called, "_Malthinae_!" Immediately the two guards on duty were at the cage.

_Bind me?_ When other elves had ordered this before, it had not made Murtagh's hairs stand on end. Dutifully but with a sneer he held out his hands in front of him. He was, by no means, collaborating, but wanted to get the procedure over with as quickly as possible.

"No, Morzan's son." Norgia smirked. "I prefer it differently."

The guards put their hands to the cage where the side and top bars met. There, they briefly applied some pressure, and suddenly the whole row of bars of the side of the cage they were standing at was moving – they were pushing it towards Murtagh.

_No!_ Murtagh thought, his mouth going dry. _You can't be serious!_ His heart was beating faster, and of course the elves noticed it. A low growl escaped him, promising his inquisitors a bad future if he ever met them again in a position not as helpless. Within moments, the bars were pushing him, hitting his right side. He ground his teeth and stood with his legs apart, struggling to resist, but it became increasingly hard.

Norgia sighed, stepped forward, and grabbed one of his arms, pulling at it. Murtagh lost his balance and fell into the position they wanted him in: his chest was pressed to the front side of the cage, facing the elves, and from behind the bars only stopped when he thought he could not breathe anymore. _I hate you! Now more than ever!_

"Finally," Evandar remarked in his deep voice. "Norgia? Please, see whether you get further than the others."

Norgia nodded and stepped behind Murtagh, reaching with her hands through the bars. With her fingertips she applied light pressure on his temples. Immediately there was a humming in his mind and he raised his already high shields even higher, concentrating, as he always did in such a situation, on Thorn. _Help me!_ he pleaded. _Help me, oh mighty skulblaka__!_

"We have received news from Osilon this morning," the queen began, her voice bitter and hard. "There have been several terrible murders."

Murtagh's attentiveness wavered for a split second and Norgia was right there, pressing into his mind, piercing it with icy needles. Murtagh flinched and focused again. _What on earth do they want now?_ the imaginary Thorn wondered.

"We know you have news of Durza which you have kept from us," Evandar continued, probably referring to the information they thought Eragon had gathered. "Now is the time to change that."

Murtagh pretended to be surprised. "You're using him!" he accused the elves. "Leave Eragon out!"

"Hypocrite! You are the one who forced him along on your fruitless journey." Islanzadí's agitation told Murtagh more than her words.

"And how would that give _you_ the right to- Aarrrgh!" He bit down on his lip to stifle the moan and soon tasted the sweet, metallic flavour of his blood. Norgia had used the moment of split concentration wisely and had circumvented the image of Thorn, who now roared in protest, pushing her back.

Queen Islanzadí tried one last time. "You, of all people, must know what the invasion of one's mind is like. Imagine how someone like Norgia, someone who has seen so many summers, has perfected those skills. Cooperate!"

"Never!" Murtagh spat, closing his eyes. He shut out the world, concentrating even harder, preparing for what was sure to come.

Suddenly Norgia attacked his barriers full force, chanting quietly to herself. A hot and stinging bolt of energy invaded Murtagh's mind, peeling away the outer layers of his protection. Thorn was fading at an increasing pace, screaming in agony. This, however, triggered Murtagh's most animalistic instincts and he pushed Norgia back, an imaginary part of himself stepping in front of the imaginary ruby dragon.

It only took moments until Norgia attacked a second time.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Murtagh was slightly dizzy still, and whenever he did not focus, the piercing presence of Norgia ghosted through his consciousness, although she was long since gone. _I hope they'll feed me soon,_ he thought weakly, _another interrogation I will not be able to last._

Fortunately, his worst fears had not come true. Norgia, and the queen and former king, for that matter, were still underestimating him. After the first, frightening, forceful assaults he had soon been able to detect the structure of the spellcaster's mind, thereby managing to either counteract or evade her. Once his rightful fear of the beginning had subsided, he had even managed to use Norgia's intervals of rest to sneak into _her_ mind, every time a bit further.

Murtagh smiled despite his discomfort. He could not help but feel the winner of the encounter. Norgia, in her position, was in on the secret of the egg – as now was he! Best of all, the elves were not aware of it. However, if they did not give him anything to eat soon, his knowledge would be all for naught. He was drained and tired, even though he had had almost a whole day to recover.

He was not sure how much time had passed when he became aware of the hectic around him. Elves were passing to and fro, no one close to his cage, but everywhere else he looked. Ellesméra was buzzing with activity.

He blinked and urged his mind to work a bit faster. Soon he noticed the anxiety that was ever present in the elves' expressions, saw them gather weapons and food. Horses were led into the city, and before Murtagh had gained any information on the reason for all this, a big group of almost five hundred elves mounted their steeds and swiftly left, heading west. Murtagh had seen both Arya and Queen Islanzadí in front.

Rubbing both hands over his eyes, he tried to rid himself of the feeling of a strange dream. He could not make sense of what he had seen, yet he had lived long enough _not_ to have a good feeling about it. So many elves, dressed for war, leaving this hastily…

He rose to get his blood circulating, marvelling at how quiet it suddenly was. Even his guards were gone – for quite some time the only living being he perceived was a woodpecker. _How odd!_

The afternoon Murtagh spent thinking, thinking hard, about what could have happened. A host of elves this big usually meant only one thing: an equally big host of Galbatorix at a place that the elves considered a threat. Or maybe the host was smaller, but as dangerous. Maybe it was only a hundred men, or two hundred, but they could be accompanied by Durza, for example, or Thorn… _Please, not Thorn! _

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Durza made a lot more sense. After all, the queen had told him there had been a murder in Osilon, and from Norgia's thoughts he had gathered that the egg must have passed the western city of the elves not too long ago. Durza, if he had travelled fast after Ceunon, was the perfect suspect for the crime. _What if he has even intercepted the egg?_ Murtagh was suddenly very cold. His imprisonment here would then become the smallest of his problems…

It was night again when an elf neared the cage, taking on the watch. Murtagh studied him for a moment, mostly to see whether he had brought food, and thus he recognized Dirwen, the man Eragon was staying with. It was also a man who was as much a warrior as Murtagh was a cat, which had Murtagh wonder whether there was truly no one left who was better fit for the job of guarding him. Had he perhaps missed that even more elves had left earlier?

He hit his head against the bars full force. Something had been set into motion – whether for better or for worse was yet to be seen – and he was stuck in a cage in Ellesméra. People would laugh about him. History would laugh about him. And he could not take part in forming the country in the way that he saw fit – a task that had seemed hopeless from the start and now was impossible.

An uncommon motion in a bush some distance to Murtagh's right caught his attention and interrupted his thoughts. It was not just a gust of wind, it could be some larger animal, or-

_Eragon!_

Murtagh gulped. It had taken him less than an instant to see that Eragon was trying to be invisible, while at the same time not being good at it, causing a multitude of treacherous sounds. Little twigs were breaking and leaves were rustling, and on top of it, the fair hair was shining like a patch of gold in the nightly forest. Murtagh's entire body tensed out of solidarity with the pitiful attempt. _And where is he heading?_ His eyes darted in the direction of Eragon's destination and came to rest on Dirwen, who, in turn, stared back at Murtagh.

In the last moment Murtagh realized that the elf would soon notice his unusual posture, so he forced his body to unclench, and nonchalantly scratched the back of his head. Next, he slowly sat back down and gave himself a pensive look.

Finally Dirwen looked away again.

All political tidings momentarily forgotten, Murtagh watched with increasing astonishment how Eragon continued to edge forward inch by inch. He never once looked into Murtagh's direction – _probably instructed by Arya to stay away from me_ – and therefore never saw the subtle but distinct gestures to halt any progress. Murtagh knew there was no way for Eragon to approach Dirwen unnoticed – whatever the purpose. And he also knew that Eragon would not be doing this if his intentions were pure.

Despite everything that should be pressing on his mind, Murtagh could not help but worry about Eragon, who was doing his best to get himself into trouble.


	8. If you're going through hell, keep going

**A/N: **Hello, 2009!

Unfortunately, this year is already starting with something bad: my internet, phone, and TV are all dead (all cable), and I'm posting this from a friend's place. Therefore, it might take me quite some time to reply to reviews, and there's also the possibility of the next chapter not being out on time. Experience tells me that this phase of "no internet" will last a while (I've been having trouble with my provider for years), and while I will try my best, I can't guarantee for anything.

* * *

**If you're going through hell, keep going - Winston Churchill**

**Chapter 8**

August 21st

* * *

His hand brushed against several dry blades of grass, and even Eragon could hear it distinctively. He knew the elves' senses to be far superior to his own, and it was becoming painstakingly clear that there would be no way for him to sneak into the vicinity of his host. So far, only the ever present musings about concepts far beyond a human's grasp had kept Dirwen from noticing him.

Eragon halted and came to rest on his stomach. He needed all willpower not to look in Murtagh's direction, even though he imagined that he felt the other's gaze upon him. Did the warrior have any idea of what he was doing here – _for him_? Because Eragon knew that Dirwen was keeping a pouch somewhere at hand, and earlier the day he had watched the elf put an item of great importance into that pouch: the key to the cage. And now that so many elves had left, it was the perfect, the only time to act.

"_We must leave, Eragon. There is an enemy in the west that needs all of our__ immediate attention." Arya was tying light leather armour to her calves, her hands working fast but steadily._

"_Leave?__"__ Eragon was staring at the picture in front of him open-mouthed. He had been called to Arya by an unknown elf, and had come right away, originally quite curious about her home. At the moment, however, he only had eyes for the assortment of blades and pieces of armour littering the floor and already partly fastened to Arya's body. "Are you going to fight?" His anger about her kissing him in front of Murtagh was momentarily forgotten and he let his true worry show in his voice._

"_Likely." Arya continued with her thighs, declining the help of another elven woman, who was otherwise keeping herself in the background._

"_But… what's happening? What will happen to me? What with Murtagh?"_

_Arya grimaced on hearing the name. "There's a Shade in Du Weldenvarden, Eragon!" This was probably meant as an explanation, which it was not. "If we find him, we will have to fight. You, however, are safe." She briefly looked up at him. "Ellesméra is protected by measures that cannot be breached by someone of an evil mindset without our permission."_

_Despite the disturbing, frantic action that he had witnessed both in town and also here with Arya, Eragon paused for a thought. Had not Murtagh crossed the borders of the city? Just what was Arya's true opinion on him being evil or not? "Murtagh…?"_

_Arya's head snapped up and she regarded him quietly for a moment, as if her thoughts went in the exact same direction and even further, but then she shook her head, sighing. "There is a possibility of the Shade holding on to an item very dear to us. In that case, we will need something to ransom with – perhaps not with the Shade, but definitely later with Galbatorix. The elders do not want to put Murtagh to the end that he deserves, but they will not hesitate to do this__, if need be.__" __Arya now accepted the help offered, and together the two elves fastened the breast plate to her chest. __"__It probably brings about the same end for him." _

_Eragon held his breath while he was waiting for some sort of negation, some word that lessened the effect of what he had just heard, but nothing. Did that mean that they were going to kill Murtagh _– _indirectly? "Well_…_" he eventually broke the silence, unsure about what to say. "I wish that nothing bad will happen to you. And I hope that this Shade does _not_ have what you need."  
_

_Arya looked at him with a true, affectionate smile. "Thank you, Eragon. Worry not." She completely missed his discomfort. Or did she ignore it?_

There was no way for Eragon to accept this fate for Murtagh. Whatever his own way in this world would be, wherever it would lead him – _hopefully home_, his heart immediately cut in – he had to try to give Murtagh a chance, too. Therefore he was using what he considered his only opportunity, the best possible chance. Still, it was hopeless. _Any second now Dirwen's going to notice me._

Following an intuition born out of desperation, Eragon decided to crawl back a little and then he jumped to his feet, walking openly into Dirwen's line of sight.

Immediately the elf glanced in his direction. "Eragon," he greeted neither friendly nor unfriendly, as impassive as always.

Eragon bowed, aware that he would have to conjure the conversation out of thin air. His heart was racing. "Dirwen… I… I have a question."

The elf inclined his head.

"What you have told me about your studies the other night… I have thought about it a bit more." _I'm turning into a real good liar,_ Eragon thought contritely. "I am not sure whether I understand completely what you meant with… well, _singing_ something out of the earth. I think I have again problems with the language."

Dirwen's dark green eyes had lit up at the words and at the unusual interest Eragon was displaying. His expression became a lot more welcoming. "It might seem so, might it not, young human? Especially for you, who you are not accustomed to our ways. But you have heard correctly."

Eragon sat down opposite of the elf and began fiddling with the nearest item – a little rock. He had spotted the pouch not even an arm's length away from him. "But then… I do not understand. I thought that singing was… music. How is music connected to a bow, for example?"

"It is only the obvious that you see." Dirwen looked away from Eragon and into the forest, gathering his thoughts; meanwhile Eragon grabbed the next item – a dry leaf – and got rid of the stone. "There are many ways that a bow is attached to music. You must understand fully all the connections. First, there are many songs about the art of war and about the art of craftsmanship, and both involve bows. There is the tale of Nurmo, for instance, a warrior of the old days, when the first generation of Riders was still young. He had a bow made of a beautiful young ash tree, and with this bow he achieved…"

Eragon's attempt to actually listen failed while he was following his greater goal. He now had the pouch in his hands and fiddled with it just as he had with the rock and the leaf before, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. His hands, however, were shaking as if he was a ninety-year-old, and his breath was coming in unsteady intervals, despite all his efforts to remain calm.

"… Second, there are the bows _sung_ into existence. Note the difference. These bows are needed for a special occasion or for a special person, and thus it is at times decided that the great forces of the earth will be summoned to aid us elves in achieving quests of…"

Eragon slowly opened the pouch but did not yet dare to reach into it. For a split second his eyes darted away from Dirwen's lips and to Murtagh, who was shaking his head in consternation and, or so it seemed to Eragon, in a silent order to discontinue. Eragon grimaced. He had no choice.

Slowly his left slid into the bag and came to rest on the only item that was in there, but then he hesitated. He concentrated harder on his sense of feel, but what had felt like a gnarled piece of root at first touch kept feeling like a gnarled piece of root. _Can keys be made of wood?_

"… thus, singing has different meanings in this world, while only we elves are sensitive enough to act upon the difference. Our present queen, the dear lady Islanzadí, has once sung not only a bow but a quiver, too, out of a tree at the same time. They were of a stunning beauty and a quality greater than even the weapons of Jösna, a warrior woman who lived about a thousand years ago and died at the battle that took place…"

Eragon had grabbed the object and his left hand was slowly retreating until he could close the pouch, and slowly he put it back at its original place. Only then did he let out the breath he had been holding and willed his features to relax. _So far, so good._

"… therefore, regarding your original question, there are many ways that music in its broadest sense is connected to bows. Do you want another example? Swords perhaps?" Dirwen's gaze had returned from staring into space and he regarded his guest with a certain fondness that he had not shown before.

"No! I mean," Eragon hurried to explain, "thank you very much, Dirwen. You've told me so much. I need some more time to… to have it in my head, I guess, but I think that now I understand. It is difficult, for me as a human…"

"I understand, young one. Our concepts may appear strange. Yet it pleases me that I was able to quench some of your interest regarding our culture."

"Again, thank you." Eragon slowly rose to his feet, careful to hide his left hand from Dirwen's view. "I shall go now and rest. May your night be peaceful."

Dirwen inclined his head as he had in the beginning. "May your dreams be restful."

Eragon meandered back the way he had come, overly cautious not to make any hasty movements. Or was he too slow? He had lost all ability to judge objectively, only aware, all of sudden, of misery spreading through his every vein. _I have shamelessly used him!_ If the plan should succeed, it would be Dirwen who was responsible for the loss of the precious captive – or the freeing of a murderer, depending on who would be asked his opinion – and the last thing Eragon wanted was to get his friendly host into trouble. _I will have to make it work out somehow!_

Quite some distance and a good deal of forest was between him and Dirwen when suddenly his whole body began to shake, and he sank to the ground and closed his eyes, waiting patiently for the adrenaline to ebb away. He could not let the dizziness interfere with what was still to come.

When his mind was clear again and his legs agreed to further carry his body, he staggered to his feet, which turned on their own in the direction of Dirwen's homestead. Only there did he look at the wooden device in his hand for the first time.

It was about one inch in diameter and roughly four inches long, bent like a hook. The wood was indeed gnarled, though Eragon could not tell if it was made of a root or no. He thought it could very well be a strange sort of key of elven fashion – just as it could be about anything else imaginable. Only the lock of the cage would tell.

He did not know what drove him to gather his cloak and his elven knife before he left Dirwen's home, he merely acted upon instinct. Once he was fully equipped, the key tugged under his belt and hidden by his not-tugged-in shirt, he returned to the location of his past and future deed, although this time staying hidden from both prisoner and guard. Murtagh, Eragon noticed, was trying to find a comfortable position, probably with the purpose to sleep. Dirwen, on the other hand, was more alert than he had been before, making Eragon retreat a step or two. After a few moments of watching the elf, however, Eragon was convinced that the vigilance was due to the passing of time, and he exhaled deeply. After all, it was was he had secretly been hoping and waiting for, because a few days ago he had learned that every night at midnight, Dirwen walked to a little well at the brink of Ellesméra and performed a rite to do with chanterelles and blackberries. While Eragon did not expect to ever understand the point of it, he fervently hoped that having guard duty would not keep the elf away from the well.

Long minutes passed until the already dim light darkened even more, signalling midnight, and finally, with one last look at Murtagh, Dirwen left the area. Eragon was jubilant.

He waited until he could not see the elf anymore, then waited for another minute. While in his head the seconds ticked by agonizingly slow, his triumphant mood vanished as fast as it had come and his heart began racing once more. _Are there other elves around?_ He looked into every direction, his eyes lingering on every shadow in the near dark, but he could not discern anything._ Now or neve__r!_

With light strides Eragon hurried to the cage, all the time casting nervous glances around, but still he could not see any elf. Only shortly before he reached his destination did a thought of a completely different nature hit him. How would Murtagh react? So far, Eragon had assumed that the other would be happy about being freed, which would probably be the case, but what then? Eragon had not spent one second thinking about Murtagh's next step. What if the warrior decided to go for Dirwen, for example?

Eragon's breathing hitched and Murtagh's eyes snapped open. _Too late now_. And the fact that the elves were about to exchange Murtagh for some unidentified thing, thereby putting him in the hands of a person that posed a deathly threat for him… It was not an option. _Hopefully Murtagh will just leave._

"Eragon!" Murtagh whispered furiously. "What have you done? You _stole_ something, am I right? You must be out of your mind!"

"Shhh." Eragon was afraid that even though Murtagh was very quiet, the intensity of his voice could attract attention. With one last step he arrived at the cage, standing only inches away from Murtagh who had quickly risen.

"Where have the elves gone?"

"Fighting." Something in the stare of the hazel eyes sent a shiver down Eragon's spine. "They're fighting. A shade or something, but-"

"A _Shade_?" Murtagh reached through the bars and grabbed Eragon's shirt with both hands. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Eragon hastened to confirm, "yes, I am. What's a shade? No, don't answer, no time. They want to exchange you, I think, at least if that shade has what they think he does."

Murtagh turned even paler than he already was. "Hand me over to the Shade?" He swallowed hard.

"Yes. But I can't let that happen." Eragon's hand dove below his shirt.

Murtagh sneered. "I guess Arya is pleased now. Has she sent you to-"

"Murtagh! She doesn't know what I'm doing." Eragon had finally untangled the wooden item and held it up between their faces. "I think this is the key to your cage… I don't… As for Arya, I told you the kiss was a mistake. I'm here to help you escape." _Stop doubting me!_

A range of emotions was chasing each other in Murtagh's eyes. Disbelief was followed by hope and then there was something like joy – but all lasted less than a second, and thus Eragon was not too sure what he had seen.

Murtagh overcame his speechlessness in an instant. "You and I need to talk," he said before snatching the piece of wood from Eragon and inserting it in the likewise wooden lock. He fumbled for a few moments until, with an audible 'plop', the lock opened. Murtagh immediately jumped out of the cage and grabbed Eragon's arm, pulling him along in a ducked manner.

Eragon had planned till exactly this point – not one step further. For that reason, he willingly let Murtagh take the lead.

When they reached the first trees, Murtagh halted for a moment, his head turning to all sides and his body tense. Eragon dared not say anything, and neither did he dare to linger on all the horrible possibilities about what Murtagh would do next. But then the warrior turned around to him with a smile on his lips. "Thank you," he said in an undertone and let go of Eragon's arm. Instead, he grabbed Eragon's head with both hands, pulled him close, and expertly took advantage of the astonished open mouth to plunge into a kiss.

With a stifled moan Eragon's body made its desire heard: it wanted to kiss back. And kissing back he did, needy for Murtagh as a man dying of thirst would be for water. Willingly he let the demanding tongue explore his mouth, his own tongue forever crossing the other's way, yearning for treatment. And the warm, dry lips agaist his own, claiming him like no one had done before, creating pressure, wanting more, more, more, and-

-and Murtagh was gone.

With a small sound of protest Eragon opened his eyes. He saw that the other was still smiling, though now there was a different quality to it.

"So you truly meant what you said about Arya…" Murtagh slowly licked his lips, as if to savour every bit of the foreign taste.

"Every word." Eragon found himself doing the same.

Murtagh nodded and looked around once more, turning serious. "I will remember, but there's no time now. I know where they keep my weapons. Wait here!" He was gone in the blink of an eye.

Eragon stood stark and stiff and tried to calm the sounds of both his heart and his raspy breathing. _He can't be that bad,_ he told himself over and over, _it's impossible. He kissed_ _me! He is not bad! _However, a small voice in his head was not drowned that easily_. Does that mean that he won't do anything bad, either?_

Very soon Murtagh had returned, his two swords and various knives all in good order and back where they belonged. "Follow me," he mumbled, his mouth full and chewing.

"Follow you where?" Eragon whispered.

"Norgia."

"What?"

"_Who_ would be the right question. She's a spellcaster and did not leave with the host earlier." Apparently, Murtagh knew exactly where he had to go, for they were already in an area that had not been visible for him from the cage.

"But… you must leave, Murtagh! Dirwen will soon be back. Don't stay around here! It's a great risk!"

Murtagh shook his head. "I need my magic, else I might be dead sooner than I care for and your little breakneck acting was all in vain." The last part of the sentence brought a faint smile back to his lips.

Unable to protest, because the capture of the key had truly been due to a lot of luck and not to his incredible acting skills, Eragon kept quiet and, not knowing what else to do, went along. It was a relief that he did not have to take the initiative at the moment; however, he was not entirely sure whether he liked the path they were taking. The path _he _was taking… or being taken along. It had been Arya, after all, who had promised him they would go look for his home once the war was over. And while he did not know how long that might take, he knew from past experience that Murtagh had no intentions of returning him anywhere.

Eragon's body slowed down on its own so that Murtagh was soon not only guiding, but downright pulling him. _I have freed him… that is certainly enough, isn't it?_ He deliberately closed his heart to the kiss they had just shared and concentrated on the task at hand. Perhaps it was truly the best to leave Murtagh now once and for all, leave before the surely quite dangerous man laid an even stronger claim on his heart. "Murtagh…"

"Aye?"

"… I think I should not go to-"

"Hush!"

Without warning or hesitation, Murtagh kicked in a thin membrane on the side of a large tree, and suddenly Eragon found himself inside of an elven home and opposite to a surprised woman. She caught herself quickly, though, and straightened up to her full height, her black hair dancing on her hips. "Murtagh!" It sounded like a curse.

Eragon caught sight of a long, bent knife a few feet to his right, but out of reach from who must be Norgia. _Oh, please, Murtagh_, he pleaded silently. _You won't attack someone unarmed, will you?_

Murtagh had seemingly no such scruples.

Moving faster than Eragon thought humanly possible, Murtagh jumped forward, the shorter one of his swords drawn. Norgia, however, was not caught that easily and danced away at an unbelievable speed.

Soon Eragon found himself in the midst of a rush and flurry of movements. As he could not distinguish much, he simply remained where he was, his heart hammering in his chest. He did not dare to move, too afraid that he might accidentally make contact with Murtagh's blade, or that he would tip the scales. It was not his fight, after all, although he still wished with all his heart for it to end already and that none would get hurt.

Suddenly there was a choked gasp and Murtagh had cornered Norgia, the tip of his sword at her throat. Her eyes were burning with a furious fire – as were his.

"My magic!" Murtagh commanded hoarsely, panting. "Now! I need it!"

Norgia managed a frail, fake smile. "You won't get it. You know I'd rather die than help you. My life is not worth the threat that your magic presents to my people."

Murtagh scrutinized her for long moments. All of a sudden, he let go of his target, rushed around – and had his blade at Eragon's throat. With his other hand he grabbed Eragon's hair and kept the head in place. "What about _his_ life?" he asked with an evil smirk. "Will you sacrifice a helpless young human?"

Once again his ability to breathe left Eragon, but this time out of panic, out of sheer terror. _Murtagh will not hurt me, will he?_ A few days ago, even a few minutes ago, he would have answered the question with a definite 'no'; now, however, he quickly lost his confidence in that.

Norgia had not moved, only her eyes had darted to the point where the sword would enter Eragon's throat in case Murtagh followed through with his threat.

Murtagh applied some pressure and Eragon knew his skin was on the verge of breaking. "Arya will be very angry and very sad if he is no more…"

Norgia pressed her lips together some longer, watching back and forth between the two males. Then her expression reached a new level of fury. "Damn you, Morzan's son! Damn you!" She spat to the ground. "I won't accept you killing yet another innocent, _demon_!"

Smirking again, Murtagh tilted his head in her direction, and she touched it with her fingertips, a look of utter disdain on her face. Nonetheless, she quickly concentrated and began to mutter in Elvish.

To his absolute horror, Eragon noticed how Murtagh's previously very steady sword arm began to tremble – the longer Norgia murmured, the worse it got. Already the sharp blade was scraping his skin.

Suddenly Murtagh groaned in agony, his arm quivered, and the sword hit its mark.

Eragon yelled in shock and initial pain and pressed a hand to his throat, which was at once wetted. The distinct smell of blood was thick in the air.

_He__ stabbed me!_

Abruptly, Murtagh knocked Norgia out with one elbow and immediately let go of Eragon. He sheathed his sword and then tried to remove the hand with which Eragon was holding back a fountain of blood. "Let me see!" he ordered harshly.

"No!" Eragon howled and backed away. The blood trickled around his hand, no matter how hard he clutched it to the wound, and already he felt lightheaded. _I'm going to die,_ he thought in shock. _I. Am. Going. To die._

Murtagh was now pulling at Eragon's arm with both of his hands, causing Eragon to fight even harder to withstand._ I won't let him speed up my death!_ _I need these precious last moments!_ _I must say goodbye. He may not speed it up!_

"There is not much time left," Murtagh produced between clenched teeth. "Eragon! Please!"

_Oh no!__ I'm not letting go. Mom! _

Only a second later Eragon felt that he was too weak, that he was losing it. _Mom! I love you! _

Murtagh tore the hand away and straightaway replaced it with his own.

Through a reddish haze, Eragon thought that the other frowned and said something… no, chanted something, but he was not sure anymore. His vision blackened, and blood was rushing in his ears, causing immense noise. _Mom__!_ he thought again, his voice only feeble in his head. _I love you!_

When the pain subsided and the feeling of blood running down the outside of his throat stopped, Eragon was convinced that he was making the first step into his afterlife. Bereft of any thought, he gave in to the blackness calling.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Somehow his heart hurt.

Eragon could not determine how exactly it hurt, but he wrapped his waking consciousness around the fact that every beat burned as if his heart was out of breath.

A while later he noticed that all was dark, yet his surroundings were unsteady. He was not moving but at the same time _something_ was moving…

Some more time passed, and then there was a bump from below that sent his heart fluttering against his rib cage, increasing the pain. He gasped.

"It will get better," a low voice said close to Eragon's ear. "Soon we will rest and it will get a lot better."

Some memories returning, Eragon soon placed the voice: Murtagh. _But how…? And where… ahh._ He finally understood that he was sitting on a horse, which, according to the movements, was going at a greater speed than he was used to. Closely behind him was Murtagh, one arm wrapped around his waist to hold him. Eragon's head was resting against the other's warm, strong chest. "…Dark," he mumbled.

A chuckle sent the chest vibrating. "You could open your eyes."

_Oh._ Eragon did as told – and was immediately blinded. "Ouch!" He squeezed his eyes shut again and only slowly repeated the opening process. The light blinding him originated from the setting sun, which was yet above trees of the forest, and straight in Eragon's line of vision. He averted his eyes and glanced to the side, and there he saw Murtagh's horse running next to them, for they were indeed cantering.

"I've been changing horses all the time," Murtagh explained, "neither of them can carry two riders at a fast pace for long. Still, they soon need a rest."

"Canter so much? Too much!" _Is that my voice?_ It sounded unnatural, throaty.

Murtagh had no trouble understanding the cryptic remark. "Of course we did not canter the entire time, or else the horses would be dead. I only urged them to run when the ground would allow it."

_Ah. And the ground looks good now, so we're cantering. _The logic behind this steadied Eragon's still muddled thoughts, until he saw a small hazel bush _land_ not far away from Tornac. _Huh? _

Frowning, he paid closer attention to their surroundings, and processed all the information at hand. Finally he understood what was disturbing him: the thick undergrowth and the bushes were moving _away_ from where the horses were about to run, partly flying through the air.

Eragon rubbed his eyes, but the scene he was seeing stayed the same. Then a slight red shimmer caught his attention, and he found Murtagh's other hand – the one that was not around his waist – to be the source of the light. It was holding the reins, but at the same time the index and middle finger were moving, pointing in different directions, and the whole hand was glowing, although Murtagh was wearing his gloves.

Eragon willed one of his arms to obey him and pointed at the hand and then further at the ground. "What is that?"

"I'm clearing a path so we can travel faster."

_Right, magic. __So it is back, then? Norgia has-_ Realization set in. "Murtagh! You stabbed me! What happend? Why did you-" He paused when a new idea hit him. "Did you want to _kill_ me?"

"No!" Murtagh hurried to assure him. "No, I did not! It was an accident. Do you understand that?" He placed a small, chastise kiss on Eragon's temple. "I was not prepared as I should have been. The counterspell Norgia used, the one for unblocking my magic, was stronger than I expected and had my arm tremble. I did not and do not mean to hurt you."

"And then? I thought I would die_…_"

"I hit a vein, and you lost a lot of blood until you let me tend to it. You're quite an opponent, Eragon!" Murtagh said with something akin to pride in his voice.

"Did you heal me with magic?"

"Yes, I did. It was a clear cut and easy to mend. But I cannot create new blood with magic, which is why you're not feeling well at the moment. You're weakened. We will need to feed you a lot in the days to come."

Eragon's hand had jumped to his throat right away, and, true enough, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Doubt remained, though, whether it had really been an accident. Murtagh had sounded dead serious when he had threatened Norgia with taking Eragon's life. _And anyhow… _"Murtagh!" Eragon cried. "I did not want to come along!" He reached for the reins and tried to pull at them, but Murtagh's hand was in front, preventing the motion from reaching the horse's muzzle.

"What do you mean?"

"Stop! Stop now!"

"No! Listen, we will rest soon, all of us need it. But we will ride until sundown first."

"No! Stop! You don't understand!" How long had Murtagh ridden like this? Half a night and the whole day? The elves were certainly far away by now. "Murtagh! Just leave me here! Give me my horse and leave me! I need to go back to Ellesméra!"

"You're going a little mad, Eragon," Murtagh said, unperturbed. "I won't do anything the like. It would kill you to be on your own."

_I must go back! _Cold sweat was breaking out on Eragon's skin, and he realized that if he could not stop Cadoc, he would have to get off somehow, to force Murtagh to act upon it. He started picking at the hand that was securing him on the horse, but the thick leather glove and horrible strength of the body within prevented any success.

Soon it was Murtagh who called for a stop, but he wanted a completely different action to end.

Eragon did not give up so easily and rammed one of his elbows into the stomach behind him while at the same time kicking both of his heels into Murtagh's shins. Murtagh flinched and cursed heavily, the entire commotion causing Cadoc to shy. At once Murtagh released Eragon to concentrate on the horse with both hands, and without further ado, Eragon let himself drop to the side, realizing far too late that one of his legs was still on the other side of the horse, and that he was rushing towards the ground with his head first.

In the last instant Murtagh got hold of Eragon again, grabbing his arm with an iron grip. The heavy weight on one side of the saddle caused the surcingle to give way, and Murtagh immediately leaned to the other side to prevent the saddle from sliding down. With another loud curse he somehow managed to rein in the horse shortly after.

When they were finally standing still, horses and humans panting and gasping, Murtagh released Eragon a second time, and as Eragon was dangling on the side of Cadoc already, he now plummeted to the ground like a ripe apple. He landed with a dull thud on his back and all air was pressed out of his lungs. A sharp, stinging pain had him briefly paralyzed, and the world around him was spinning rapidly. He thought that he had hit his head on something, but was too weak to raise a hand to feel for it.

Murtagh jumped to the ground and pulled both horses close, murmuring softly to them. Only when they had calmed down did he turn around and crouched next to Eragon. "You fool! What were you thinking?" He was more angry than worried.

Eragon's vision was blurry and he was not yet able to speak. His revolutionary mood had taken its leave for the moment and he only wished for the pain to subside. After some time he whispered, "I wanted to tell you in Ellesméra that I'm not coming with you."

Murtagh's eyes narrowed in confusion. "But why?"

Eragon coughed and choked a little and gladly accepted the hands that were finally extended to him, pulling him upright into a crouched sitting position. He knew, however, that he did not have time for more than catching his breath. Murtagh was waiting for an answer, and they would have to settle the matter _now_. "I," he croaked, then cleared his throat. "I only wanted to set you free. I wanted to stay. Arya said she would help me find my way home."

"Arya!" Murtagh snorted. "I should have known, it's-"

"Murtagh! No!" Eragon would not hear any of it again. "Does it ever stop? Have I not told you that I didn't mean it and… have I not proven it?" he asked in a voice that was fortunately as cold as he wanted it to be, hiding all the other emotions assailing him.

And suddenly he was witness to the greatest moodshift yet.

Murtagh's irate expression went soft, and, to his astonishment, Eragon found himself looking into eyes that were for once full of apology. Then Murtagh reached out with one hand and brushed it lightly over Eragon's cheek. "You have," he said simply. "I should not have brought Arya up again. You have done me great service. I… I'm not used to people like you. People that care." He quickly turned his head away.

From the side, Eragon thought that Murtagh looked sad, which confused him no little. _Can't he accept something done in his favour? __Shouldn't it make him happy? _Then another thought occured to him, and he felt a little sad, too. _Has no one ever cared before?  
_

After a pause Murtagh's attention was back and his voice business-like. "Listen, Eragon, I need to tell you something…" He fell quiet again, licked his lips, and ran a hand through his hair. Seemingly it was _not_ so much business as usual, after all. "I have told myself during the imprisonment that I would let you go, because… because I like you." He smiled apologetically, as if it was a bad thing. "But when you freed me yesterday, I had assumed that you wanted to come along. I never thought that maybe you did not. I thought that… that perhaps you would excuse my using you with Norgia when I would get us away safely. Seems as if I was wrong – again!" He looked remorseful, which, as Eragon noted, was a first. "And look now!" Murtagh exclaimed more to himself. "You need me and I'm holding a speech! Here." He helped Eragon move backwards a little until he could sit down with his back against a tree, then unfastened his cloak and draped it as an extra protection over the younger one, although it was not really cold.

"Are we resting now? It's not dark yet," was the first, trivial thing to say that popped into Eragon's head. "See to the horses again, please. I did not mean to scare them." He bit his lip. _What am I talking about? I like you, too!_

Murtagh watched him only a moment longer. "Yes, we'll stay here. We should have covered enough distance for now." He rose and swiftly attended to their steeds, a deep frown never once leaving his forehead. When he returned with some stolen food, however, all agitation was wiped from his features, as if he had decided on a course of action. "You need to eat."

Eragon took the bread offered and munched quietly for a few minutes, aware that Murtagh did not do likewise but instead only studied him.

"Here is how we do it." The sun had set when Murtagh broke the silence. "You cannot return on your own, and I cannot accompany you right now, that should be obvious. The elves are probably chasing us, or rather me, in this exact moment. But what's even more pressing is that with Durza somewhere close, and the egg probably, too, I must hasten on for the sake not only of Thorn and my life, but for the entire country."

Eragon could not follow when the conversation changed to the undoubtedly highly important political matters. "Durza? I thought, something called a shade-"

Murtagh raised an eyebrow, then smiled a crooked smile. "I assumed it was obvious. Durza _is_ the Shade. It's his name, the name of a monster… But no more of it now. And with the dragon egg… there's so much I still have to tell you, Eragon, but it's also not the time."

"So is this the war Arya talked about? Or part of it? The war after which she wants to help me?"

"Yes. Although I think you don't understand the dimensions of it. This war, Eragon, will last not only months, but years, if I'm not mistaken." Murtagh looked down on his hands. "I remember that you once asked me about your home, too, and I know I did not react as you had wished me to. But… but that was then. I will do my best to help you – once this war is over. But you must be aware of how long that can be."

Eragon knew that his increasing fatigue would soon kill his concentration, so he had listened with rapt attention._ Murtagh will take me home as well?_ He simply nodded. What exactly that meant he was not sure, but he felt a little smile fight its way to his face. _Spend more time with Murtagh _and_ find my way home!_

Murtagh shook his head. "You're most incredible, Eragon. You once said I can be nice, and I've tried when it comes to you, but I am still struggling… and yet you're happy." He shrugged helplessly. "Here I am, telling you I'll help you to find your way home, but I don't even know where that is! I never asked you! That isn't too nice, is it?"

"Montana," Eragon said spontaneously.

"What? Mon- Do you mean mountain? What do you mean?"

"No," Eragon briefly looked at his lap, fighting the homesickness that had kicked in out of the blue. "Not _mountain_. Montana. That's where I'm from. My home."

Murtagh was quiet for a moment. "I must confess I've never heard of it… Will you tell me more about it in the days to come?"

The undeniably sincere interest made Eragon feel better already. "I will. Will _you_ tell me more about _yourself_, too?"

"I will."

Eragon nodded once more and closed his eyes. The strain was becoming too much, and his body was calling for a break. However, one more thing he had to know right away. "With all this fighting and war and battle… you will be in the middle of it, right? Where will I be?"

"Yes, I will be riding in front, on a horse or Thorn. But worry not. You will be far away from danger. I will see to it that you're safe. I have someone in mind that you will stay with."

"Where, Murtagh?" Eragon whispered. "The elves said the Empire is evil, and I think I believe them. Is it safe for me there?"

"No, it wouldn't be, I don't think so," Murtagh admitted. "But as you know, _I_ don't trust the elves. Therefore I have someone different in mind, someone from a third party." He snorted. "True, the man neither likes nor trusts me, but I have a very strong feeling that for you, he will care, and that he will protect you. You're special, Eragon, do you know that? You win hearts like others a faked game of dice."

Eragon was deeply touched by the last words, but he was too confused now, too weary to react to them. "Tell me more t'morrow?" he mumbled.

"Sure I will. You should sleep now. I'll see to it that we can rest peacefully."

_Good._ Eragon lay down on his back, not opening his eyes again, although he would have liked a good look at Murtagh before falling asleep. Only one thing remained for the day, one thing he did not want to go without. Had he been in any other condition, he would have been terribly nervous. "Murtagh?" Hardly a sound escaped his lips. "Will you kiss me?" He held his breath.

"Of course," the beautiful voice agreed with an audible smile.

When Murtagh's lips brushed against his, Eragon felt himself smiling as well.

* * *

**A/N: **Murtagh's nice here in the end, isn't he? Too nice? I don't think so. Here's why:

Throughout the first five chapters, Eragon steadily gains Murtagh's respect by acting the way he does, and he keeps the older one continuously interested and attracted. Last chapter, Murtagh actually admitted to himself that he likes Eragon, which, for Murtagh, is almost a revolutionary thing to do. In this chapter, then, there's quite a few things happening:

First, Eragon frees Murtagh, which is not only a great symbolic deed regarding his feelings for Murtagh, but also simply a great deed in itself. Then, Murtagh accidentally nearly kills Eragon, and though he's probably quite busy afterwards organizing the flight, I'm certain that part of him is full of guilt, a guilt of the extend that he's felt only once before (Tornac's death – a bit more about that next chapter). And while a few weeks back he might not have cared at all if Eragon had told him that he did not want to come along (as he tells him here), now, hearing this after all else that has happened, it adds to Murtagh feeling sorry about what he's done. And lastly, by acting as he does here in the end, Murtagh is rewarded in a way that he has never experienced before: another person's heart is warming up to him and - important! - doesn't hide this. I could very well imagine that if someone has been bereft of this warmth all his life, once he feels it he might find himself craving more.

In short, I'd say that stabbing Eragon is a turning point in Murtagh's attitude towards him, and it's a very strong turning point on top that. Why? 'Cause even though he's laid the foundation for it, Eragon's not even involved in this. It originates completely from within Murtagh. And those changes are always the strongest.


	9. Without a country, I am not a man

**A/N: **

1. The two chapters ahead are a bit problematic. Why? Well, while we all know quite a bit about Murtagh by now (chapters from his POV, other fics, the books, of course), Eragon in this story still knows next to nothing. And while Arya has indeed told him quite a few things about Alagaësia, in total, she and Eragon did not spend that much time. So now we have an Eragon who knows only snippets about the world he's in, thinks he knows who's good and bad, knows Murtagh is one of the leading bad, and on top of that knows Murtagh is a murderer. Therefore, the two _must_ discuss some matters here, else it would be pretty stupid, I think (even though most of us easily forgive Murtagh everything, but that's just not realistic). Brace yourself for politics. :)

2. Some part of Murtagh's reasoning here is derived from a Gandhi quote: "What difference does it make to the dead, the orphans, and the homeless, whether the mad destruction is wrought under the name of totalitarianism or the holy name of liberty and democracy?"

3. Somehow the anonymous reviews have enabled themselves (...), but I really don't mind at all. I disabled them back in the day when I posted my first fic, afraid of flames because of writing slash… These days, though, I don't really care, _and_ I know of the delete function, so of course I'm leaving them enabled. I should have enabled them myself ages ago, actually, just never thought of it. But as I can't reply via the site's reply function, all I can do is to thank you (anonymous reviewers) very much this way, and I hope that you'll continue to enjoy the story.

* * *

**Without a country, I am not a man - Nawaf Al-nasir Al-sabah**

**Chapter 9**

23rd Grain Moon

* * *

Murtagh took his time tending to the horses, granting Eragon precious moments of further rest. They would have to pick up the fast pace again, and keep it as long as the horses were able to, but considering how weary Eragon had been the previous night, every minute of sleep was needed.

When the sun passed the horizon Murtagh was set to go and there was no delaying anymore. He strode over to Eragon and found him curled up in a ball, his mouth partly open. Murtagh sank to one knee and reached out to touch a shoulder, but stopped when his eyes came to rest on the golden hair. _Finally…_ His hand changed its path and soon he was running it lightly through the wavy strands, over and over again. There were a few tangles in it, and some little twigs and pieces of leaves from the ground, but overall, the hair was just as soft as he had imagined it.

Only with regret did he let go, and his hand wandered down to Eragon's throat. Both his fingers and his eyes convinced him that he had done good work the previous day, but still, even the healthy new skin made Murtagh cringe. The fact that he had injured Eragon so severely was still heavy on his heart and mind.

He lowered his hand to the shoulder and shook it lightly. "Wake up!"

Lazily Eragon opened his eyes, but when he recognized Murtagh, they quickly fell shut again. "Not yet," he mumbled.

Murtagh rose and unceremoniously pulled his cloak away from Eragon. His own night had been rather cool. "It's time for us to move. I laid a false track in Ellesméra, but the remaining elves will have long since sent someone after us."

Muttering something incomprehensible, Eragon slowly pushed himself upright.

"Here." Murtagh handed over a wineskin.

Eragon declined with a disgusted expression. "Wine would make me throw up."

"No, it won't. Have at least a sip – it will raise your spirits. We will eat once we're riding."

Without further protest, Eragon did as told, but made it look as if he was forced to drink poison. "Ready," he announced shortly after and stood up, swaying a little. "Oh." He reached for Murtagh's offered arm and held on tightly on his way to Cadoc.

Once Murtagh was sure that Eragon would not fall off his horse, he swiftly mounted Tornac and spurred him on, grabbing Cadoc's reins when he passed the chestnut stallion. "Before you complain, I want you to use _your_ hands to hold food," he told Eragon.

Still groggy from sleep, Eragon was quiet for a long time. He ate so much bread, cheese, and fruit that Murtagh knew their supplies would not last long, but all that mattered now was for Eragon to balance out his loss of blood.

The sun was nearing its zenith when Eragon's natural liveliness returned. So far, he had not uttered any grudge about Murtagh taking the decision concerning his future away from him. Instead, he obviously enjoyed the trot and light canter, and, Murtagh noted, he had indeed learned a lot in terms of riding and could now divert a great part of his attention away from his horse, which he did staring at Murtagh's hands or the objects flying out of their way.

"Murtagh?" They had slowed down to a walk when Eragon broke the silence, which had lasted almost all morning. The horses' flanks were steaming. "Why didn't we travel here like this? With you use magic, I mean. It's four times as fast!"

"With you _using _magic. The horses can't keep this up for very long." That was part of the reason, after all.

"But still… can _you_ keep it up for long?"

_Damn you, Eragon. When did I turn into an open book?_ "No," Murtagh admitted with a little smile. "Far longer than the horses, but magic is difficult in many ways, and mine especially. With all that I already shoved out of the way yesterday… I can feel the strain of it." He flicked the middle finger of his right and a fallen tree rolled to the side.

Eragon contemplated that for a moment. "But… but you only move the things on the ground. Why do you never move the big trees?"

"Because a living, grown-up tree is rooted deep in the earth and requires a lot of energy to be removed. See – the basic principle of magic is that whatever task you accomplish, it costs you as much energy as if you do the task the normal way."

"Ah, I understand," Eragon said, sounding the exact opposite. "But… Wait! You could lift all that _withou__t_ magic? I mean, if you did this all day yesterday when I was not… err…" He looked at Murtagh for help.

"Conscious."

"When I was not conscious. Could you?"

Murtagh pointed to a nearby stream. "Over there, let's water the horses." He directed Tornac towards the water, Eragon following swift. "No, I cannot," he answered once they were at the riverbank. "I am strong," he added hastily, "but only like a normal human, no more."

"That doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't." Murtagh sighed. "And this is where we're touching the bad stuff. Do you want to?" He motioned for them to continue on the sandy banks, which went straight west for a league or two, in the direction of Osilon. There were no obstacles in their way and Murtagh took a deep breath. There _was_ a good reason why he avoided using magic, after all.

"Yes," Eragon answered without hesitation. "I must know things, Murtagh, or I cannot decide on my own. I _want _to decide on my own."

"I'll ask you a hundred things in return," Murtagh threatened mockingly.

"I'd like you to."

Eragon was more serious than he had made it sound, and Murtagh sensed that there were quite a few issues the younger one wanted to address. _He's completely out of place_, he reminded himself. _He has no one and probably lost many… I shouldn't forget that so often._ "I will," he promised, and was rewarded with a beautiful smile. "So… the reason why I did not clear our path on our way here was that I had to stay hidden. Now, however, the elves are well aware of my destination, so at the moment it is all about speed. We will conceal ourselves again, but only in a few days, when there are others around to hide from."

Eragon nodded. "It leaves traces. Magic, I mean."

"… It has taken me more than a year to figure that out! But yes, it's true."

Eragon shrugged. "It makes sense from what you've said." He paused for a thought. "But… you have lit fires with magic on our way here, right?" His forehead crinkled into a frown. "And I thought I had understood…" he grumbled.

Murtagh shook his head and laughed a little. "You impress me, Eragon! I would have never believed that you remember that, let alone connect it to what you're hearing now."

"I'm not stupid!"

"No, no you're not. I didn't say that." He went for an attack. "You don't like compliments?"

"Err… It sounded… not real. Not _meant_. There's a better word."

"_Ironic? _It wasn't, though."

"Oh. Well… thank you," Eragon said meekly. Suddenly he grinned. "You're very handsome. And I very much like how you smell."

Murtagh choked on his own spit and a coughing fit followed, which did not, however, drown Eragon's laughter. "_What_? What's that supposed to mean, Eragon?"

"The truth," Eragon replied nonchalantly, "what else? You don't like compliments?"

_Bastard!_ Murtagh thought amused, but looked away into the woods. He would not grant Eragon the triumph. "Yes, I lit those fires with magic," he said when he had his face back under complete control. "Yet the spell for that is very basic, very easy. It requires so little energy that it is nearly undetectable."

Eragon was still smiling the proud smile of victory, but had paid close attention nonetheless. "I think I understand now." He reached for his waterskin and took several deep gulps, then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. "You said in your case it's especially difficult or something…"

"Aye. I'm not a magician or wizard, see? I'm only using the magic given to me by my dragon."

"I know."

"Good. In all cases, however, you need training, else you'll only master some basics at the most or never anything at all. Thorn hatched for me roughly three years ago, when I was your age, and ever since I have learned from no one less than King Galbatorix himself."

"Ah."

"You have no idea what that means, do you?" Murtagh leaned down to kill a gadfly on Tornac's neck. "Well?"

"The king is evil," Eragon said, or rather, recited. "And you… err… serve him." He blushed and added quietly, "That's all I know."

_Oh, wonderful__!_ "You know, I dream of sucking his cock for breakfast, but he only lets me have it in the evenings."

"Murtagh!" Eragon immediately stopped his horse and scowled at him. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"You don't know me, Eragon!" Murtagh had halted as well, but was a few yards in front. "My life is a mess! It could very well be true…" He snorted. "It's not, though, do you hear me? It's not."

Eragon shook his head and kept sending angry glances in Murtagh's direction when he urged his horse forward again and passed him by. They rode quietly for a while, one after another, and soon left the stream, which was turning south.

_Stupid joke! _Murtagh thought, his hands furiously clenched around the reins. _All my life I've spoken safely little, and now this_…

"Explain!" Eragon demanded eventually, and waited for the other to catch up with him. "It's not my fault that I don't know you!"

Murtagh scrutinized Eragon for a moment, trying to figure out how angry he really was. "I'm bound to Galbatorix." _It can't hurt if he knows._ "Even though I hate him, I don't have a choice." He spat to the ground. "But no more of it now. What I had wanted to tell you earlier is that the king is the most powerful magic user of these days; his skills exceed everybody else's. He has taught me a lot and has made me immensely powerful. The normal rule that a spell costs as much energy as the same labour done manually does not apply – most of the time. However, Galbatorix is also immensely afraid of anybody besides him gaining too much power, and as I have all the prerequisites… He's surrounded me with barriers, which in fact hinder me from uttering certain spells, performing certain magic."

"For example?"

"For example scrying."

"What is scrying?" As so often, Eragon's curiosity overruled everything else, including his anger.

"Scrying allows you to see things or persons if they are away from you, but only if you have seen these things or persons before." The extraordinary ability did not impress Eragon in the least. "No matter what the distance!" Murtagh added for emphasis.

Eragon remained unimpressed. "And?"

"Well… _I_ can't scry. Galbatorix prevents it with a spell, so that I don't have the slightest chance of seeing what he does or where he is… Of course, he has an army of other measures to protect himself on top of it."

"You can't scry only now? Or forever?"

Murtagh grimaced. "Until the day he dies."

Eragon held his gaze for long moments. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Murtagh reached for one of his saddlebags and drank some wine. "I'm not that sad about my inability to scry. Other barriers are worse, but they're harder to explain."

Eragon nodded and was quiet for some time. When the silence lasted, Murtagh wondered whether perhaps it was now his turn to ask, and he gave it a try. "So you're from Moun-…Montana? Do I remember correctly?"

Eragon jerked at the abrupt change of topic. "Yes, that's right." He smiled briefly, then gestured impatiently with one hand. "I have some questions still, if you don't mind."

"Oh." _Wrong _–_ again! _"Go ahead, then." _How is this supposed to work out if I'm never right about him?_

"If you hate the king," Eragon began tentatively, "why are you with him? When you told me about Alagaësia, you said you're not satisfied with how things are now, but it's the king's doing. So, why don't you change sides?" He did not look at Murtagh. "I'm not acc... accusing?... accusing you, I would only like to know why."

_So it's politics now_. Murtagh sighed. "I was born into service, so to speak. My father, Morzan, was Galbatorix' most loyal follower, the first among the Forsworn." Had anyone told him beforehand, Murtagh would not have believed how easy the words left his mouth. "As a child, I was not concerned with political matters, of course, and later, when I was a boy, I only knew what I had learned while growing up – there was only one truth. Moreover, my existence had been kept from the king for some time, and when he finally heard of me, I would have been dead in no time had I not been loyal to him and his views. These days… Have the elves told you about secret names?"

Eragon shook his head.

"Then let's just say that the king has found a way to make not only me, but worse, Thorn, too, extremely vulnerable to his magic. For the sake of not endangering our lives, I must obey."

"But… do you always do that?"

"Depends. He sends me on missions or gives me a task, and I must fulfil both to his satisfaction. So far, however, he has not interfered regarding _how_ I do things or what I do in between. This leaves me with some freedoms."

Eragon frowned and put a finger to his lips, pondering. "But… but how is it, then? Where do you stand? The elves have told me so much about Galbatorix, about the crimes he has committed, the… the… they called it _atrocities_. They told me what _you_ have done." He regarded Murtagh both reproachful and with sadness. "It is wrong! Killing is wrong!"

Murtagh rolled his eyes. "It's war, Eragon." _Please_, he thought, _not one of those!_

"I know. And I can understand… a little… that in war you must kill. But only in battle, only on the battlefield. Everything else… torture, rape, murder… no. No!"

"As is the nature of war, it is not only one side doing this…" Murtagh sighed. He had changed to a considerable extend in the last years, but Eragon would not be able to understand or even appreciate it in the least if he did not accept the given circumstances. "Everybody does what is necessary, though I, for instance, tell my men to kill swiftly and thoroughly, not like others… But I don't have to explain myself to you," he added harshly.

Eragon abruptly stopped his horse once more. "I cannot ride with you. Not like this. I cannot _be_ with you."

Perforce, Murtagh halted as well._ What is it now? _"Did I ever say that I _want_ you to ride with me?" he asked tauntingly. When Eragon only stared back without turning a hair, Murtagh's smirk faded. He had never said it, true, but thought it nonetheless, and he knew that Eragon knew.

Swallowing the comment about Eragon having grown up pampered, Murtagh instead made his voice very calm when he said, "Look. The elves kill, too, so do the Varden. The latter are also quite fond of lessening the moral of people within the empire. Do you know how they do it? They cross the border and send little parties of soldiers into empire villages to plunder and burn. Often villagers die that are too young, too old, or too sick to defend themselves, let alone to carry a weapon. You can accuse me all you want, but you must accuse most others, too. It is war."

"I don't like this." Eragon's face held a pained expression. "There must be another way!"

"Sure there is," Murtagh immediately told him. "End the war! I never said I liked seeing these things done nor doing them myself. I will _not_ accept any of it in times of peace."

Eragon watched him sceptically, at the same time conceding with a wink of his hand that they could at least let their horses walk again. "But how much good is the peace if the people are treated like slaves by a cruel king? If people are hungry and ill, they will fight again one day."

"Those could have been my words." Murtagh smiled when Eragon's eyebrows shot up. "This is where I differ from other powerful men in the empire and from what I've learned growing up… Granted, that last bit is not quite true. When I was but a boy and my father still alive, he appointed a master swordsman to my service. It was the only good thing he ever did for me. Tornac, I now know, changed me profoundly in many ways." He stared into the forest but saw not the trees.

"Tornac?" Eragon dubiously eyed Murtagh's stallion.

"No." Murtagh laughed quietly. "I only named my horse in the honour of this man. He was one of the best warriors of his generation, yet he despised killing and battle. And he was a wise man." Pride was audible in his voice. "He taught me all he knew, not only about the art of war, but also about politics, and all about the old days. I _know_ how bad a king Galbatorix is. Thus, when I'm talking about peace, I am also talking about a country without Galbatorix."

Eragon, to Murtagh's relief, seemed very much in accordance with this, but then something must have crossed his mind. "But you're still on the wrong side! The elves and the Varden want exactly the same, yet you make their progress slow or even push it back, and maybe one day they will kill you, although you're not against them. That is… that is…" He clenched one hand into a fist. "I don't want that! It's wrong!"

"No, _you_ are wrong, Eragon. I am very much against the Varden, and the elves, too. The latter, however, mainly because they're with he Varden, and not because of the age old feud between them and Galbatorix."

"Gah!" Eragon shook his head. "I understand nothing. Less than nothing."

_I cannot possibly hold it against you._ "Let me explain, then. I take it that the elves have told you about the Varden?"

Eragon nodded. "The Varden are fighting the king – most of the time secretly, or from _Surda_ - to over… err… overthrow him one day. They want the people to rule over Alagaësia, I think. That means freedom, peace, and no more terror. It is the absolute right thing." He paused "You don't want that? That's… that's not right."

Murtagh heaved a long and heavy sigh. "It sounds good, does it not? All peace and happiness and the people love each other… It's _unrealistic_, Eragon." He refrained from using the term that was on the tip of his tongue. "Let's assume for a moment that the Varden will be successful at some point and take over control. What then?" His voice turned harsh. "They know nothing of governing, they're a bunch of ignorant fools! The country consists of so many people with so many different cultures, different backgrounds, different views. The Varden would not be able to control them. Soon, very soon, Alagaësia would be ruled by chaos. Then, the people would suffer again, and to them, it matters not whether they are hungry under the rule of a mad king or hungry at the hands of the Varden. Meanwhile, the Varden would only be able to control matters by recruiting a new army, then sending it _against_ the people. Tell me, Eragon: how is that right?"

Eragon never answered that question and Murtagh did not pressure him, wanting the younger one to think it through. And Eragon did, which had him silent for so long that in the end, he had to clear his throat before a proper sound could escape. Very quietly he asked, "What do _you_ want?"

"It is my firm belief that the system, as such, is sound." These thoughts Murtagh had never uttered aloud before, but thought a thousand times. "The Riders ruled Alagaësia peacefully for more than two thousand years, and, as a whole, the country was thriving. Now Galbatorix has corrupted the kingship and has cruelly and falsely reigned for over a century. But what is one century?" He looked at the other, but Eragon only looked back at him quietly, waiting for more. "Just one century, think about it! It's nothing when you compare it to the time before! The past tells you that people actually want to be led. When it is done correctly, the wounds will heal, over time, and people will prosper again. What Alagaësia needs is a dead Galbatorix and a just and fair new king." He fell silent, pondering about what he had just said, wondering whether he could convince someone of importance with this line of reasoning.

"That _sounds_ good," Eragon conceded after a while. "Yet… what are you going to _do_? This is only your idea about what shall be in the end, although… who shall be king? You?" Eragon grinned briefly, but the amusement did not reach his eyes.

Murtagh laughed out loud, dismissing Eragon's uneasiness. "King? _I_? No!" He reduced his outburst to a chortle. "Apart from being a good leader and experienced regarding politics, the future king will also have to be liked by a majority, he will need charisma, and he will have to be willing to make compromises… most of that disqualifies me." He turned serious. "As for a course of action, I do not know – yet. I am very much alone, and against Galbatorix and Shruikan, Thorn and I do not stand a chance. All I'm doing at the moment is gathering information – and wait for a potential ally. Although it's ridiculous to hope for one."

"What about Tornac?" Eragon asked right away. "If he has taught you about the wrongs of the king, then won't he be the first to fight at your side?"

"He would be," Murtagh replied, swallowing down a lump in his throat. "But… when Thorn was but a hatchling, I tried to flee Uru'baen, wanting to save him from the powers already controlling _my_ life. Tornac supported me, he was at my side, but we failed." He stared straight ahead, reciting the event monotonously. "Tornac died that night, saving Thorn and me."

Something touched his arm and Murtagh cringed. His head snapped around and he found Eragon's hand squeezing him lightly for a brief moment. Murtagh curtly nodded, but also thought that the other need not know more about this, so he returned to the previous topic. "It's hard sometimes, because I have visions! I know what I want for Alagaësia. That's why I must meet the new Rider as long as he's still unspoiled. I need to convince him of what we could achieve, and I need his strength at my side in battle." He looked at Eragon, shrugging. "I have my men, true, and they're good men and even better soldiers. But I can't really talk to them, and they are too few for me to change the existing conditions…"

"I like what you've told me," Eragon decided after a while. "I'd fight with you, if it was of any help. Of course, only against the king and never against the elves…" His mouth twitched into a crooked smile. "But you know what Vanir has said about my skills."

"I have even _seen_ your skills," Murtagh chuckled, glad about the diversion. "Do you remember what I offered you?"

"You'll teach me?" Eragon's eyes lit up. "I would like it very much if I wasn't as hopeful as Vanir said."

"Hope_less_! But yes, I'll teach you," Murtagh confirmed. _Will you ever take my words for granted right when you hear them?_ "Not for a few days, you're still weak and we must hurry. After that, though, I think we can spare an hour a day." His tone changed. "Now, however, I'd like to stop moving at a snail's pace." With that said, he leaned forward in the saddle and Tornac immediately changed gait. Behind him, he heard Cadoc likewise gain speed.

_He's with me on this, _Murtagh thought repeatedly, thought happily. _He's with me!_

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Murtagh was back to finding hidden trails in the thick undergrowth. If speed through using magic was not an option anymore, secrecy was the main prerogative. He actually managed a decent result, which meant leaving no traces, but that was only due to a lifetime spent in training, and not due to concentration. His mind was working furiously trying to make a sense of what Eragon was telling him.

There had been no warning.

They had covered a great distance in the course of the afternoon, with Eragon mostly quiet and very thoughtful. But eventually Murtagh had begun wording questions - as promised earlier - and apparently Eragon was in a mood to be as open and honest as Murtagh had been before. Thereby, though, he had meddled so profoundly with the basic pillars of how Murtagh perceived the world, that Murtagh had not been able anymore to concentrate on the most simple of spells, and therefore had to decide on the necessary steps changing their journey.

Murtagh chuckled a little, trying to ease the situation by focusing on one of the more amusing aspects. "Do you know that the thing you're wearing underneath your trousers had me wondering those first days? It never made sense."

"It's called _briefs_," Eragon explained, smiling. "And it's not in a good state these days, with holes in it."

"What do you wear it for?" If Murtagh was honest, it was only he that needed some relief in the current situation. Once he had made Eragon understand that he believed him, Eragon had happily chattered away about his home, every now and then looking at Murtagh and quite obviously fighting back laughter at what he was seeing.

Eragon raised one eyebrow. "For cleanliness… Don't you wear anything underneath?"

Murtagh smiled broadly. "Want to come take a look?" The mere thought had him stir.

A light blush was rising on Eragon's cheeks and he nervously waved a hand in the air. "Maybe later." He blushed even more, probably for his own boldness.

"I do wear something," Murtagh eased the other's embarrassment. "Not as tight, though. Doesn't it… hurt?"

"No, it's soft enough. There's enough room for… for everything." Suddenly Eragon was deep crimson. "I mean, it never hurts, no matter how big you… err…" He spurred his horse on, not finishing the sentence.

_Ah_. Murtagh bit his lip to prevent from bursting into laughter, so instead, a strange gurgling sound escaped his throat. He fought for a moment until his usual, iron self-control was back, and returned to a topic far more serious. "So… in your world… wherever that is… have you heard from people vanishing the way that you have?"

Eragon shook his head, his face almost back to its normal colour. "No. People vanish all the time, but of those that come back… well, there are so many people, and many have strange stories to tell, but I've never heard of anything like this." He considered something for a moment. "You don't understand how odd it is. I mean, this world, this _Alagaësia_, it's kind of like our world was about nearly a thousand years ago. But we have changed so much. It has not stayed the same as it has here."

"Like your world was in the past? But you said there's no magic." A faint buzz in his head made Murtagh look up and about, and he reached out with his mind, but only to detect nothing. Still, he began regarding the darkening forest around them with renewed attention.

"No. No magic. It's not _exactly_ like our world used to be. There is so much more here. There are elves, dragons, Shades." Eragon frowned. "Our travels are connected to this Durza, am I right?"

Murtagh felt the buzz increase, and so did his vigilance. Eragon's talking reached his ears only muted.

"And something about this egg, too, right? Do you think you could soon tell me about these matters? I'd feel a lot better if I knew, because the elves made it sound dangerous and-"

"You!" Murtagh cried, then laughed aloud while his heart made an excited leap. _You! How did you do that?_

A deep, booming sound of amusement spread in Murtagh's head while Eragon had ceased to speak, watching him with both eyebrows raised high.

_What occupies your mind, young one?_ Thorn inquired. _I had not thought I could hide my identity from you for so long and so successfully._

_Elastic undergarments, _Murtagh replied, smirking when he perceived his dragon's confusion. _I missed you, my friend! So much has happened._

_Indeed it has. Worry had me hasten here, and I am glad to have found you so quickly. The king is throwing fits, and that stinking Durza has left the court again right after arriving. If I'm not mistaken, he's coming for you. _

Murtagh felt Thorn closing in rapidly, so he aimed for a little clearing ahead. "Hold on to your reins," he advised a wondering Eragon. "Keep your horse in check." _Have you come from the east? Did you see any elves following us?_

_Us? _Thorn hummed. _But no, I have seen no elves from the height. Who is us?_

_Land and you shall see. _Murtagh had hardly finished when he heard the flapping of large wings, and he craned his neck to see his blood-red dragon come into sight. Thorn dropped from the sky like a dead bird, then dove down the last yards towards the ground more elegantly, his scales sparkling like a thousand rubies in the setting sun. _Stunning!_

_I know. _Thorn stretched out his hind legs and reversed the movement of his wings, sending the trees around the two humans swaying.

Suddenly all went very fast.

Cadoc neighed panic-stricken and reared. Eragon yelled in surprise, but managed to cling on to his horse's mane when it made a giant leap forwards and away from the dragon.

Murtagh, whose attention had been completely away from Eragon, was too late when he reached for Cadoc's reins. With a curse he hit his heels into Tornac's sides. _Stay!_ he nearly shouted at Thorn, who had just landed and was running a few yards to slow himself while folding his wings. The flight had been too fast for an immediate stop. _Don't move!_

_You fly and land for once, Rider. Then you can tell me how to do it._

Tornac was gaining steadily on Cadoc, yet the latter had reached the end of the clearing and was now thrashing through trees and bushes, considerably hindering any progress on Murtagh's part. Still, after several moments he was directly behind the chestnut flash of colour, and when there was a patch of less dense forest, he closed the gap and was finally able to snatch the reins.

He slowed them both down, acutely aware of Thorn's laughter in his head. "We need to work on your horse's nerves," he gasped, ducking beneath the low branch of an oak.

Eragon, red-faced and panting, let go of the strand of mane he had been clutching and straightened up, looking at Murtagh with wide eyes. "But not on his speed."

"No." Murtagh chuckled. If Eragon was fit to make a jest, he was alright.

_Now who is that?_

Murtagh ignored Thorn for the moment. "Let's return. Someone is curious about you."

Eragon nodded, his fearful gaze giving way to astonishment. "It's your dragon, right? It's Thorn!"

"Remember what I said about _my dragon_?" Murtagh asked in an undertone.

"Oh!" Eragon's eyes were big again. "Yes. He's not _your_ dragon… or something similar."

"You will see," Murtagh said. "In a way, he is I, and I am he, but I do not own him like I own my horse. Come now, look." With that, he broke free from the almost dark forest and emerged on the glade again, his eyes darting back and forth between his dragon and Eragon. _I wonder who's more striking, _he mused without closing his mind, positive excited about the outcome of his provocation.

… _Murtagh?_ Thorn asked, disbelieving and slightly amused. _Are you well, young one?_

Eragon was frozen to the spot, or rather his horse was, but he probably would have been, too, had he been on his feet. "Beautiful," he whispered in awe. "He's so beautiful."

_I am perfectly fine_, Murtagh informed his dragon smugly. "Eragon? This is Thorn. Thorn, this is Eragon."

_That introduction explains __everything._

Eragon face twitched oddly between smiling and amazement. "So beautiful," he repeated stupidly. "Does… does he understand me?"

"Of course." _How much of an explanation do you need?_

"Good evening, Thorn," Eragon said with a little bow.

_Hold on to his reins!_ When Murtagh did as told, Thorn shifted closer, causing Eragon to jump off his terrified horse. However, instead of retreating, the young man actually made a step towards the dragon, his hand half extended. _Brave little thing._

_That h__e is. _Murtagh smiled fondly at Eragon, who, after the initial shock, was apparently not in the least afraid. "He paid you a compliment." _Until a few weeks ago he knew nothing about the existence of dragons…_

Thorn released a puff of smoke and came to stand next to his Rider, towering over him. He lowered his head, disregarding Eragon for a moment, and instead brought his snout directly to Murtagh's head, sniffing at him. He proceeded sniffing along the whole length of Murtagh's body, even including Tornac, who was shivering madly but stayed where he was. _It is truly you,_ Thorn eventually assessed. _But you feel strange… Rider! What happened to emotions being stupidly overrated? _Thorn nudged him lightly. _I didn't come here only to find… this._

_Tsk__._ "How about we make camp and settle manners one by one?" Murtagh asked Eragon. "You need your rest." He hesitated, looked at Thorn, then added, "You even missed part of my kiss last night because you fell asleep so quickly." _Did you hear that?_ he asked, mentally laughing. He knew his dragon would not mind once he had become used to the idea.

_Rider__!_

"Oh." For an instant, Eragon's attention was not on Thorn but on Murtagh, and he smiled. "I could try to do it better tonight."

"I expect no less."

With a roar that had Tornac bolt and Cadoc break free and run away a second time, Thorn announced that he at least halfway accepted the new circumstances. Quick as a striking snake he laid his tail around his Rider's waist, carefully dragged him off his horse and pulled him close. _So be it _–_ for now. And if it's not only for amusement, then I hope__ you remember our deal. _

_I don't __yet know how much there is. It's complicated._

_No excuses, human, _Thorn remarked unperturbed. _You've teased me too much to back off now._

Murtagh nodded slowly, conceding defeat. _Of course I remember the deal. Good that I'm already hunting for the egg…_

_Certainly good,_ Thorn confirmed. _Because don't you dare mention Shruikan in this context. I, for one, would like a female!_


	10. Enjoy when you can, endure when you must

**A/N:** The end of this chapter must be the first time ever that I left out on the chance for a cliffie... for a reason. *evil grin* Apart from that, I'll wrap some things up here, so that both Eragon and the reader know what exactly is going on... or at least know most of what's going on.

* * *

**Enjoy when you can, endure when you must - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe**

**Chapter 10**

24th August

* * *

The water was spilling over the rim of the full waterskin and Eragon lifted it out of the gurgling little stream. He rose to his feet and turned around, busy closing the skin with a cork. In the last instant he saw the ruby tail blocking his way and managed to jump over it. However, he tripped when he landed, and could only barely regain his balance without falling._ Not again!_

He was sure the tail had been there for this exact purpose.

Thorn produced a booming noise and let out one of his typical foul smelling puffs of smoke. His head was bent backwards and he had not missed the smallest motion.

Eragon blushed and continued on his way towards Murtagh, who was sitting near to Thorn's head, rummaging through the large saddle bags that he had taken off his dragon, his hands emerging with bread, cheese, and something Eragon had learned to be pasties with a vegetable filling. "Don't pay him any heed," Murtagh called over his shoulder without even looking up.

_Mind-to-mind communication_, Eragon knew, _and that is not where the cool things end._ He looked at Thorn's huge body when he passed him by, still as awed as he had been three nights ago when he had first met the dragon. The beast was an elegant mass of pure power, pure energy, with scales hard as steel, shining and glimmering in all shades of red, and fangs the size of Eragon's forearm. _And those claws must be a horrible weapon in battle…_

Still, Eragon felt quite uncomfortable under the fiery gaze of the predator, and it was not because he was afraid of an attack. No, somehow Eragon felt as if Thorn was putting him to the test – constantly. What exactly this test consisted of, or, even more important, what Thorn was aiming to achieve, he did not know._ Does Murtagh know? __I can't ask him when Thorn is always there to hear everything… _Eragon sighed and sat down on a fallen log opposite of the Rider.

Murtagh looked up, his features more relaxed than they had been in days. "There's no need for you to be worried. I like what I've seen today. We've left Ellesméra far behind and should be ahead of all messengers they have sent, and the elven host is nowhere to be seen. There won't be a battle yet." He handed Eragon his share of food. "But when it comes, I'll get you away from it, trust me. Get you away beforehand."

Eragon took a bite of the not so fresh bread. "I'm not worried… well, no, I am, but not right now."

"What is it, then? Don't deny the expression on your face."

Involuntarily, Eragon's eyes flickered to Thorn, and he blushed anew when Murtagh's laughter filled the quiet evening. At the same time, the sound sent a shiver down his spine and he closed his eyes, relishing it. Murtagh was always _so different_ when the day came to an end.

"Thorn, then, eh?" Murtagh regarded his dragon with something akin to fatherly pride. "He is… eager for anything to happen, eager to fight Durza. As he can't do that yet, he busies himself with matters that should be none of his interest." At that, Thorn nudged his Rider with his snout, hard enough for Murtagh to lose his balance and fall forward. "_Not so much_ of his interest," Murtagh amended grumpily, struggling back to his feet and sitting down anew. He was rewarded with a small breath of fire that missed him only by inches.

Eragon smiled against his will._ I should not forget the fire. That's the most awesome thing of it all_. He enjoyed watching the two together like this, because he knew it would be different again the next morning. Nighttime was playtime. However, Murtagh's explanation did not serve its purpose. "What do you mean?"

Murtagh cocked his head and studied him with an inscrutable glance, then shrugged and got to his feet. He walked over to the horses that were grazing a few yards away and felt with his bare hand along their legs down to the fetlocks. "It's enough," he said loud enough for Eragon to hear, as if the latter had never asked for a more precise explanation of the previous statement. "They need to slow down. Starting tomorrow, I'll be gone more often with Thorn."

Eragon did not reply. Even _he_ knew the horses were spent. _But if you don't want to answer my question… _He licked his fingers clean, grabbed his cloak, and looked for a dry, soft patch to lie down. He was just kicking a stone away from an inviting spot when Murtagh was suddenly beside him and put a finger beneath his chin, tipping it upwards.

With an unintentional moan Eragon allowed the claiming of his mouth that followed right after. He closed his eyes and concentrated solely on the slightly chapped lips against his own, and soon also on the eager, demanding tongue that was deepening the kiss. And while Thorn roaring in the background would unsettle him any other moment of time, he easily ignored him completely now.

Murtagh put a hand around Eragon and pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together. They were both breathing raggedly, and Eragon's heart was hammering. _I don't want… of course I want… but… not only in the evenings… more__…_

As always, it was Murtagh who broke the kiss, regarding Eragon with the familiar twinkle in his eyes. Then his gaze wandered further to Thorn, who had moved some distance away and had half spread his wings. Now, the dragon jumped up in the air and with strong, swift wing beats he left the ground behind, vanishing in the sky where the first stars were becoming visible. "_Now_ I can answer your question," Murtagh said, smiling. "I wasn't avoiding you, but he's a horrible eavesdropper."

Eragon only nodded, needing a moment to gather his thoughts, and crouched down on the ground with his cloak around him. Murtagh unbuckled his swords, rammed them into the earth, and came to rest close to him, albeit without any physical contact. "What I mean," he began, "is that I, for example, would never interfere when it came to him and a dragon lady. He, on the other hand, has no such scruples."

"He doesn't like me much, does he?" Eragon asked gloomily. It had not taken long for him to see the elves' reports confirmed: dragon and Rider were unbelievably close. If Thorn did not like him, how could Murtagh?

Curious hazel eyes bore into his. "What makes you think that?"

Eragon shrugged and looked away. "He… hmm… puts obstacles in my way, like his tail today, for example. Or he scares my horse even when there's no need for him to cross our way."

"Ah, but that proves the exact opposite." Murtagh folded his hands, slowly twiddling his thumbs. "Thorn does not care about people, humans especially little. And he does so by ignoring them – completely. You, however, have him interested, and when he's doing these things, he is trying to get to know you by judging your reactions."

"Hmm. But I am not important. Where does the interest come from?"

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "From me, of course. I told him to _familierice_ himself with you, and he's not displeased so far."

"Familier what?"

"Familiarize. Get to know you."

"Ah." _Murtagh told him to? _Eragon felt immediately better, and it must have shown on his face.

"He won't keep it up forever," Murtagh assured. "Give him a few more days. Soon there will be other things on his mind."

"Like mocking my fighting?" Happy as he was about Murtagh offering to teach him, Eragon had an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach ever since the other had mentioned earlier that he deemed Eragon fit enough to start practicing. _He already only kisses me at night, when he does not really see me. What will my laughable attempts at handling a sword do to how he regards me?_ The rollercoaster of Eragon's feelings was racing downward again.

"No, that's not what I meant." Murtagh pulled Eragon close for another, more tender kiss.

Again Eragon ignored his worries for a moment and complied willingly, still not used to the tingling sensation that each and every kiss sent down his spine, through his stomach, and even lower. Of course he had kissed guys before – and now also a woman, his memory reminded him unasked for – but not that many. He was sixteen, after all, and had a single mother who was very protective.

But most important, most different was the fact that Murtagh was a man, and not a boy, and it showed in every detail, every minute of the day. Physical intimacy – and be it only kisses thus far – seemed as natural to him as breathing was to Eragon, and he carried himself with a level of self-confidence that had Eragon drooling. So as always, he savoured their contact as long as it lasted.

Murtagh ended the kiss, seemingly unaware as always of the other wanting to prolong the contact. But while Eragon was still sighing in regret, the older one raised a hand and cupped his cheek, lightly running his thumb along the cheekbone, and Eragon's breathing hitched.

Immediately Murtagh frowned and his hand stilled. "You don't want me to do that?"

Smiling nervously, Eragon hurried to disagree. "No. No, I want you to do that more often."

Murtagh smiled in response. "I had hoped so."

_Then why don't you do it? _Murtagh's constant refusal of any contact during the day made Eragon more than unsure about himself. Yet while he was still pitying himself because of this, Murtagh's second hand came up to attend to the other side of his face, and Eragon forgot his doubts. Shortly before the hand made contact, however, he noticed a white shimmer coming from the palm. _Now what is that?_

He swiftly grabbed Murtagh's wrist and stared, soon in awe, at a silver star burned into the skin, which radiated quite a bit of light in the now dark forest. "Murtagh?"

Murtagh calmly accepted Eragon taking his hand and poking at it with his fingers. "You never saw it on our way to Ellesméra? It's my _gedwëy ignasia_. Surely the elves have told you about it?"

"You always wear your gloves," Eragon absentmindedly pointed out while covering Murtagh's hand with his own in an attempt to drown the light, which was, however, fading rapidly on its own anyway. _Wow! But didn't Arya say that_… "Did you just use magic?" Eragon looked up at Murtagh, wanting to catch even the smallest reaction

Murtagh intertwined their fingers. "What if I did?"

Suddenly Eragon felt very cold. "Are you… doing something with me? With magic? You wanted to touch me with that hand!"

"No," Murtagh said and shook his head, "no, I'm not doing anything. I can't influence you. I'm only… I only wanted to find out what you were thinking." He had the decency to look slightly abashed. Hastily he added, "To see whether you liked what I was doing. Touching you, I mean."

Eragon untwined his hand and leaned away from Murtagh. "You are reading my thoughts?" he asked with his voice raised and his stomach clenching. Murtagh's words made him feel naked.

"No!" Murtagh hurried to say. "I can't read thoughts. I can only catch glimpses of emotions, and the rest I have to guess." He extended one hand in the direction of Eragon, but soon thought better of it and pulled back. Regret was taking possession of his eyes. "I… I should not have done that."

"No you shouldn't!" Eragon confirmed with a warning tone. "… _Why_ did you do that?"

Murtagh sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it at the back of his head. "Because you're a mystery to me," he confessed after a little pause. "I often think I understand you, and then you prove me wrong the next instant. I… I would not care so much if it wasn't for… well, I told you I like you." It was still hard on his lips. "Perhaps you should know that this is new for me. I'm not used to liking someone, and… I'm afraid to lose a part of me in the process." He swallowed and averted his gaze. "I only liked once before, though it was different. And when Tornac died…" He did not finish the sentence.

Eragon held his breath, aware how rare the inside to his feeling was that Murtagh was granting him.

"… You make me insecure," Murtagh eventually admitted, and with a crooked smile he added, "Don't tell Thorn. I'm trying to hide it from him."

_Insecure? Murtagh?_ Eragon swallowed, thinking he had misunderstood. _He is the proverbial opposite of insecure!_

A few moments passed, and when Murtagh continued watching him, silently asking for some sort of relief, Eragon eventually cleared his throat. "Well…" he began, then paused. What could he say? "If you don't know how I'm feeling, then why don't you ask?"

Murtagh snorted. "You make it sound as if it's easy."

"But it is! It's easier than… than fighting, definitely. Even easier than riding a horse." When Murtagh snorted again in response, Eragon smiled a little. "True, it _is_ a matter of practice. However," he added, widening his smile, "you could and you should start by practicing with me."

Murtagh scrutinized him for a moment and finally nodded. "I shall learn to ask." Suddenly there was a mischievous spark in his eyes that was visible even in the dark. "But should we not prepare the practice ground in a way that it will be easiest for me? That would be only fair, wouldn't it?" Without waiting for an answer, he closed the distance between them and dragged Eragon down to the ground with him. He swiftly hurled his cloak over their bodies, then pulled Eragon into a tight embrace, ignoring the surprised yelp of his victim.

Eragon's body turned into jelly and he allowed Murtagh to form it according to the older one's wishes, admitting to himself that he was incredibly pleased with the result – or rather, he admitted it a few moments later, once his brain was producing coherent thoughts again. Only slowly did his pulse return to its normal frequency, but being held close to Murtagh's taut chest by his strong arms remained an experience of unprecedented bliss. He sighed out of content.

"Are you willing to practice now?" Murtagh's voice was amused, although Eragon also heard some of the satisfaction that he himself felt.

"Sure," he mumbled against Murtagh's vest. "Ask me all you want."

Murtagh was quiet for a while, and then: "A few days ago you said something… How, exactly, do I smell?"

"You still remember that?" Eragon asked incredulously and broke into laughter.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Eragon woke alone, albeit still covered by Murtagh's thick cloak. For a moment he wondered _why_ he was awake already, as the sun had yet to pass the horizon.

"You're taking forever!" Murtagh called, proving to be the reason for the end of Eragon's night. "What would you do in a real fight? Sleep some more?"

Eragon yawned and stiffly got up. He walked to the little stream and splashed some water in his face, trying in vain to kill some time before the inevitable sparring. By now, it had lost all appeal to him. _I'm a dork… I don't want him to see that up close._

"You're such a woman!" Murtagh teased. "Don't be afraid of me and get over here already!"

Eragon ground his teeth. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he would not be laughed at so much. At least Thorn was not around.

"Take Orúm," Murtagh instructed while drawing his long sword and lightly banging its tip against one of his boots, producing a clear, dark 'thud'.

"Take what?"

Murtagh only raised his weapon and pointed at the second of his blades, which was, for once, not fastened across his back. "Orúm means snake, or serpent. I named it thus because that's how I strike with it: swiftly and to my opponent's surprise." He cast a look of appraisal at his weapon. "It's rather short and thick, like a sting. Don't worry, though, the length will suit our practice purposes just fine."

Slightly intimidated by this description, Eragon grabbed the hilt with his right, imagining that he felt a certain power radiating off the blade. He scolded himself and idiot and drew the sword, which greeted daylight with a violent hiss. "It even _sounds_ like a snake," he said, trying to joke. _Okay, this is scary._

Murtagh chuckled. "Every sword drawn as you just did should sound like that."

Feeling stupid, Eragon took a closer look at the blade in his hand, soon admiring it. He knew nothing of swords, but he thought this one was beautiful. When he realized, however, that it was probably due to him being biased with everything Murtagh, he laughed a little. "Does your other sword have a name, too?"

"Yes, Zar'roc. _Misery_. I've been taught to treat my weapons like my best friends," Murtagh defended the names, misunderstanding the laughter. "They are the ones protecting me in battle. So far, they have not failed me. Zar'roc, however, I inherited from my father, so it was he who named it… Yet he _was_ a master of battle, after all, and luckily he found the true name of the sword…" He looked at his hands, deep in thought for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Enough talking. Get ready! I simply want you to hold on to the sword at the moment. You know how to do it?"

Eragon nodded hesitantly. Vanir had told him and partly taught him, but with hardly any success. So he simply raised the weapon waist high and clung to it, wishing fervently that he would not drop it the first instant. _Please, please, please._

Murtagh half circled him, then swiftly danced the other half of the circle, and suddenly he leaped forward and Zar'roc clashed against Orúm.

Eragon yelled out of surprise and out of the pain shooting up from the hilt and throughout his whole arm, making it feel as if a car had just run over it.

Murtagh chuckled again, retreating. "Congratulations!" When Eragon only gave him a blank look, he explained, "You tried to hold on to it at any cost, am I right? Truth be told, I probably could _not_ disarm you like this right now. However, I could break your arm in an instant." He smirked.

Eragon grunted in despair. "What shall I do?"

"Find the balance. Never lose your weapon, but don't ever let anyone use it against you, either. Unclench your arm!"

Doing as told, Eragon readied himself for the next attack.

Murtagh did not even move much, only stepped forward, twisted his wrist, and Eragon found himself without the sword, and without knowing what had just happened. He groaned. _Great!_

"Now that was too loose," Murtagh said superfluously. "Try again. It's all about the balance."

Eragon swallowed down his frustration and picked up the sword, readying himself once more.

It did not help much.

Within the next quarter of an hour he tried his best, but he could as well have attempted to move a mountain with his bare hands. It was impossible. Soon sweat was running down his body and drenching his clothes, whereas Murtagh was only slightly flushed, although it was the older one that constantly swirled around while Eragon hardly moved at all.

"Stop!" Eragon eventually called, breathing hard. He refused to lift his weapon anew. "How can I learn?" he asked bitterly. "You're no different than Vanir." _Have I truly looked forward to this a few days ago?_

The comment immediately wiped the smile off Murtagh's face. "No, I'm not like Vanir," he corrected, "because I will not end it at this. I could not have shown you what I meant, though, if this had not frustrated you. Here's what I've suspected all along: change hands!"

"What?" Eragon looked at the body parts in question, at the moment not understanding what Murtagh was referring to.

Murtagh sheathed Zar'roc and closed the gap between them. He took Orúm from Eragon's right and placed it in his left, closing the reluctant fingers around the hilt, all with the exaggerated movements people normally used with children. "Like that," he said, his hand lingering shortly on Eragon's. "Get ready!" he then repeated his already overused phrase of the day.

Eragon frowned. "Murtagh, I'm not… err… what do you call it? With my left, I mean."

"Left-handed."

"Ah. Well, I'm not." Eragon's patience was at a low, and he could not stop worrying about what Murtagh must be thinking of him at that moment. Alagaësia defined itself through battle, and Murtagh was a master swordsman, after all, with skills highly respected even amongst his enemies. "I don't think-"

"Try it! Sometimes a body doesn't make sense."

"Yes, but-"

"Get ready!"

Zar'roc rushed out of his sheath and towards his usually trusted companion – and was blocked.

Eragon's protest died on his lips, and he stared in wonder at his left, his eyes trailing down his shoulder towards his hand and up to the tip of the sword. He shook his head. "Luck."

"Of course." Murtagh smiled, and, without warning, delivered another blow… which was blocked once more. "Luck," he said, copying Eragon's grumpy tone perfectly.

For the first time since they had started sparring, Eragon looked at Murtagh without anger in his stomach. "More."

Murtagh complied and slowly moved around Eragon, attacking in an unsteady rhythm.

With growing astonishment, Eragon registered how he managed to fend off several of the light blows, holding the sword just right, neither losing it nor hurting himself. His left arm was acting all on its own, and doing so very well.

However, he was also quickly tiring, and after a further quarter of an hour he called for another, more final stop. This time, though, it felt thoroughly good.

He looked at a smiling Murtagh and felt himself smiling in return. Then his eyes were suddenly caught by a flash of red a little distance away, and he realized that he had not even noticed Thorn's arrival. "Hmm," he began his assessment after a moment, "you did not really put any effort into this fight, did you?"

Murtagh laughed while crouching to reach for Orúm's sheath and strapping it to his back. "No, of course not. But that's not what this was about." He straightened up and went over to Eragon, demanding his weapon with an open hand. "'Tis a matter of practice. I like what I've seen right now, so maybe one day soon I will have to put more effort into this."

_He liked it? _Eragon followed Murtagh towards the horses and grabbed Cadoc's saddle and snaffle on the way. The positive feeling in his stomach lessened the more he pondered about the fighting. "You're only saying that, aren't you? So that I don't feel useless…"

Murtagh stopped dead next to him. "What do you expect from your first sparring, Eragon? Don't be _too_ ambitious… And don't imply that I'm not speaking the truth," he added a bit harshly.

"I didn't say that, did I?" Eragon nearly snapped before pausing in astonishment. He could not explain where the sullen mood had come from.

Murtagh scrutinized him for endless seconds, before suddenly all tension left his body. "If my words don't convince you…" He dropped Tornac's tack and reached for Eragon to pull him close. His lips kissed down the trail from one ear along the jaw to Eragon's mouth, where he proved that the praise had indeed been honest.

_Oh. And it is _not_ dark!_

"As I said," Murtagh eventually whispered, "don't be too ambitious, but also don't doubt yourself! No need to be all gloomy."

_Now I know,_ Eragon thought, _so shut up already and kiss me again. _Aloud he said, "I'm not, anymore," and took the initiative to deepen their contact.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

_Of course __those beautiful moments can't last_, Eragon told himself for the umpteenth time while keeping a close grip on Tornac's reins. He had become adept at steering two horses simultaneously, although most of the time he simply bound Tornac to Cadoc's saddle. In the current vegetation, however, that would be unwise. Brambles on both sides of the narrow path were eager to get a hold of anything touching them.

He sighed and decided it was time for a little rest. After all, Murtagh had told him to pick his own speed as long as he was careful and remained on the indicated course heading west.

He stopped the horses, slid to the ground, and led both to a puddle of water before tying them loosely to a small tree. He fetched some very stale bread to chew upon and sank down to the ground, sitting cross-legged. _Hopefully Murtagh remembers the state of our supplies once he's done…_ Yet what the warrior was facing before the possible theft of some food, Eragon did not want to think about.

By now, he had not only a broad overview of the happenings in Alagaësia, but had also finally been informed about all the details of the journey back and forth on which Murtagh had taken him. The _dangerous_ journey on which Murtagh had taken him.

Riders, in this country, meant incredible power, Murtagh had explained, so the king had continued treasuring the two remaining dragon eggs after Thorn had hatched, especially because he could not and did not fully trust Murtagh and Thorn, irrespective of knowing their secret names. Meanwhile, as a result of his reign, a rebellion had formed a few decades ago – the _Varden_ – and had quickly allied itself with the elves. Many of this rebellion, Murtagh had told Eragon, were working from within the Empire, among them a powerful trader, Jeod, who was very likely dead now, and a former Rider, Brom, who was not supposed to be alive but very much was.

Eragon's hand brushed through the dirt on the ground, drawing simple patterns. _Now this Brom is intriguing, but considering how he feels about Murtagh… _He was deeply worried about showing up at Brom's on the heels of the son of the old Rider's archenemy, convinced that there were too many issues, that Brom would never agree to taking care of him. _I definitely regard said son differently than he does__…_ A shiver ran down his spine and he rose to his feet to ease the feeling. The future remained a menace ahead of him, even though Murtagh had said that Brom would be nice, would not hold fate's decision to place Eragon at Murtagh's feet against him. And yet…

He chose to postpone the thoughts and returned to the horses. Murtagh had said that if he dared, he could ride Tornac, too, but that he should be careful… Those last words had Eragon immediately decide against it. So he mounted his faithful chestnut stallion once more and urged him on. _If only Murtagh was here… If only Murtagh doesn't get hurt!_

Four days had passed since their first sparring, days in which Murtagh and Thorn were gone most of the time, looking for both elven and Empire movements, searching for the Shade, leaving their fellow traveller to himself. Those few moments when Murtagh did seek him out, finding him wherever he was, had become very precious to Eragon, even though it usually meant that he was drilled until every muscle of his body was screaming in protest.

And then there had been this one night, the only one that Murtagh had shared camp with him… It had been rather sleepless, and instead had been spent with long, wonderful hours of kissing and gentle exploring and caressing. But Eragon still refrained from touching anywhere near Murtagh's privacy, and likewise did not accept Murtagh's hands anywhere near his own most sensitive flesh, and he could not help but worry about that as well. _He won't be this patient forever_, _so much is obvious. But it's all so scary… If only I hadn't refused Jordan after the game this spring!_ It was another train of thoughts that wanted to be ignored, and Eragon quickly returned to his previous musings.

From Murtagh's trip into Norgia's mind he knew that Brom, with information from Jeod, had somehow managed the impossible and stolen one of the eggs. Afterwards, he had delivered it to the elves and vanished into thin air.

"_The Varden have risked quite a lot for this egg, haven't they? Why?" Eragon asked, his eyes on Thorn who was soaring ahead, his trust on his horse to find a way on its own._

"_They have no other choice." Murtagh was nibbling on the remnants of an early apple. "They have launched some attacks in the past and have allied not only with the elves, but also with the dwarves and the kingdom of Surda. But they have also come to realize that, in the long run, they won't stand a chance without a Rider on their own."_

"_Because of you?"_

_Murtagh shook his head. "Don't give me that look! If I wasn't there, others that are now working alongside of Thorn and me would take our place. Durza, for example, or the Ra'zac. The final and most important problem, though, is the king himself. The Varden have no chance of fighting him directly, only a Rider can do that, although I doubt that one would be enough… Anyhow, this is why they urgently need the egg, no matter what the price." _

_It made sense so far. "And what now? Where is it? __What will happen?"_

"_The elves have kept it in Ellesméra for a few weeks. Shortly before we arrived, though, they received reports about unusual Empire activities in the north – that should be the presence of Durza and me in Ceunon – and sent the egg off to the west, to Osilon, which you and I had already left behind at that point. However, the egg never made it there, because somehow Durza is already back in the north and killed its guards. Yet, for a reason still unknown, he was unable to acquire the egg, so now he's roaming the area, as are we, and as is the host of the elves with Arya and Queen Islanzadí."_

"_What a mess!" _

"_Aye. Do you want another apple?" When Eragon nodded, Murtagh tossed him one and they both had their second share of the sweet fruit._

_Eragon sorted out his thoughts. "So… Durza wants the egg for the king. The elves for themselves… which is also the Varden, in a way. And you? And what did the elves mean with ransoming you… What's with you and the Shade?" It was a bit too much of a chaos for his liking,_

"_I'm somewhere in between everything." Murtagh managed a little smile. "I'd say you picked the most interesting of them all." He turned serious again. "When I found you, I was on a mission to learn news about the egg. In Ceunon, I wanted to meet a spy with news about Jeod – mind you, at that point I knew nothing of Brom being alive – but Durza arrived first. How he knew about my spy I know not. He then returned to Uru'baen, probably bragging with the news and telling the king that I have a secret spy system to request information behind the king's back…"_

"_He doesn't like you."_

"_That's _one_ way to word it. I'm number two in the Empire, and I have a dragon – two facts about me he loathes. He wants to see me gone, wants me dead, and he doesn't care whether it happens at his own hand or because he delivers 'proof' to the king that I'm a traitor… So I will have to finish him off first."_

For Eragon's taste, Murtagh was far too cool regarding the Shade despising him. And now, everyone was up and about somewhere in Du Weldenvarden, all looking for the egg, and most also looking for Murtagh.

These days, Eragon often wished that Murtagh had nothing to do with the matters of the world. His heart clenched every time he imagined what could befall the Rider and his dragon on their trips, for he knew the two would attack Durza the moment they noticed him, and would be attacked by both the Shade and the elves the second _they_ saw _them_.

So Eragon rode on into an uncertain future, his worry for the man he had come to care about making him feel even more lonely than on his first days in Alagaësia, while at the same time constantly afraid that his own actions, or rather, his neglect to act, could turn out to be the reason causing Murtagh _not_ to return… _Please,_ he thought fervently, _whoever is listening up there… do something! Make this alright! See Murtagh safe… and have him come back to me!_

It did not yet occur to him that perhaps _his_ life might be endangered as well.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

On the next day a light drizzle had set in, and after a few hours Eragon was soaked. _It must be nearly or already September_, the rational part of his mind told him, but he could only brood over the fact that he was in the middle of what seemed to be Murtagh's longest absence yet, and the weather perfectly matched his mood. Usually, Murtagh was around in the mornings and often also in the afternoons or shortly in the evenings. Now, however, it had been far longer than twenty-four hours since last he had been there. Eragon had even sparred some on his own this morning, using a piece of wood instead of a sword, blocking imaginary blows from imaginary enemies, but it had been pretty stupid.

Eragon was huddled deep in his wet cloak, still grumpy about the world, when the horses suddenly stopped, pricking up their ears and looking to the right. He urged them to move again, but their previously relaxed walk turned into alert, short steps. Once he remembered Murtagh telling him to always watch their movements and trust their senses, he likewise tensed up and looked into the direction in question.

There was only rain and forest, just as there had been all day.

Cadoc began to prance on his feet, and Tornac pinned his ears back. Only rain and forest or no, Eragon's pulse sped up, and his eyes raced from tree to tree, trying to discern what made them nervous. But in the end it were his ears, not his eyes, that did the job, and after a moment he heard what the horse did: loud, bursting sounds of something big, something ruthlessly rushing through the forest.

He listened more closely, holding his breath.

It was something coming towards him!

All hairs on end, he felt the panic surge through his body, and it transmitted to Cadoc, who reared and neighed shrilly.

While Eragon was still busy regaining control, the noise suddenly stopped. He swiftly looked up – and his blood froze.

There was group of huge and brawny creatures only a few yards away from him, creatures with horns. He guessed that they stood at least at seven feet, but, most importantly, they stood very aggressively, all of their small, yellowish eyes glaring at him, weapons in a tight grip. _And a__ll I have is a knife… Shit! Not even a gun would help with those bulls._

More and more creatures came into the open, until there were about fifteen of them. And those horns…

_Urgals_, Eragon heard Murtagh's voice in his head. _Tall and broad, grey skin, and long, twisted horns. Durza has recruited them for the king, but they are not to be trusted. _

Eragon still sat unmoving, eyes locked with the first Urgal that had appeared, blood rushing in his head. He swallowed hard.

The Urgal smirked.

Suddenly the whole group set in motion towards him, their expressions hostile and… hungry.

Eragon awoke from his trance and tore Cadoc's head around, kicking his heels into the horses' stomach with all his might. Cadoc jumped forward, pulling Tornac along, and off they went, galloping through the wood.

After a few moments Eragon threw a glance over his shoulder, and to his horror he saw that the Urgals had begun running, too, and that he was not exactly leaving them behind as planned. He imagined that he could even hear their heavy strides amongst the drumming of the hooves. _Oh my God!_ He urged the horses on, but they were not able to go full speed in the forest.

Another minute later he saw an open space to his left, and steered towards it. What he had not considered, though, was that the clearing served the Urgals just as it served the horses; he still did not gain any ground. _I can't get away! Oh my God, I can't get away!_

The race went on, and to Eragon, things were happening strangely in slow-motion. This left him enough time to imagine what would happen once the horses tired. Or tripped. Or ran into a dead end of sorts. _They'll tear me to pieces!_

Suddenly a shrill, loud screech tore through the air, coming from above. Eragon's eyes immediately darted to the sky – and a sob of relief escaped him.

Thorn was descending rapidly in a cloud of fire. Due to the rain, his scales were not sparkling, but instead looked like they were covered in fresh blood. With an impact that sent the earth rumbling, he landed behind Eragon, facing the Urgals.

Eragon pulled at the reins and rode a big circle, and was soon as close to Thorn and Murtagh as Cadoc would go. He would rather be close to them with a shying horse than back in the dark forest, which held the possibility of more dangerous creatures breaking free.

Murtagh glanced at him, the colour of his face strangely dark, then jumped down and in front of the halting Urgals. His right was on the hilt of Zar'roc, yet he left it in its sheath. "_Kull_!" he called loud and clear, receiving unfriendly, guttural sounds as answer. Thorn growled and stepped closer.

"You're not here to hunt humans!" Murtagh continued. One of the Urgals replied, and Thorn breathed a shot of fire that had several of the group duck their heads to avoid it. "Do not defy me or you will taste my sword! I am Murtagh, Shurt'ugal, general of the king's army, and I order you here and now to leave, and never hunt this human again!" He stood tall and erect, _royal_ in a way, and his furious voice carried far.

The Urgals were clearly aware of whom they were facing. Many looked away from Rider and dragon, and slowly they retreated – hesitantly at first, soon at a light jog. Thorn followed them for a few paces, then stopped, staring after them into the forest.

Eragon closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His head was spinning, and a light nausea was setting in. _That was a near thing!_ He was shaking like a sapling in a storm.

His eyes snapped open again when Murtagh pried his fingers off his horses' reins and mane and pulled him to the ground, where he embraced him tightly. "I'm sorry," Murtagh whispered, shivering himself. He pressed Eragon even closer to his chest. "I'm sorry. I was too late."

"I'm fine," Eragon lied without conviction, his voice feeble. "Nothing happened… yet." He took a deep breath to steady himself – and smelled blood. Pulling away a little, he looked up at the other, who stood a good inch above him. "Murtagh!" The dark colour of the older one's face was due to it being covered almost entirely by dirt and dried blood. "Are you injured?"

Murtagh shook his head. "Old. Listen, Eragon!" He took Eragon's head in both hands, unaware of the grime he was spreading. "I was too late! You were in danger! I never wanted that to happen!"

Again Eragon saw the trampling mass of bodies chasing him, and tears welled up in his eyes. It had been a _very_ near thing. "You're here now." _And don't go away again!_

"But still… This makes me want to stay with you at all times." Murtagh's eyes were tormented. "But I can't, I'm sorry." He exchanged a glance with Thorn. "However, you will keep my sword. You need a proper weapon." He unfastened Orúm. "It is mortal in close combat and will serve you well."

"No, " Eragon protested weakly. "That's nonsense… I can't fight, and you need it!"

Murtagh shook his head. "If I have to, I can manage with only one. And I will not see you unarmed."

Realizing what this meant, Eragon's shivering increased. "A-are there going to be _more_?" _I can't fight an Urgal!_

"I pray that there won't. But you must be prepared, thus is our world." Murtagh cast him a look of apology.

Eragon slowly nodded and stared down, watching a teardrop fall down and merge with the rain. Too many issues were assailing his mind, and he only wished for it all to end, all problems to dissolve. A moment later, he looked up again, and without thinking folded his arms behind Murtagh's neck, pulled himself close, and drowned the next sob with a kiss.

He nearly choked on tasting gore.


	11. War is like love, it always finds a way

**A/N:** Once upon a chapter _–_ namely chapter 1 _– _there was a warning... If you don't remember, go and check, please, and see whether you're alright with it.

And yes, I'm perfectly aware how _little_ has happened in the last two chapters. Frustrating, isn't it? Guess who else got frustrated? Right, Taggy. And with that part of Morzan within him... Believe me, I don't always understand him, either.

_To Talitian: _Thank you so much! I'm very happy that the story continues to appeal to you, even though we'll have to see about your guess... :)

* * *

**War is like love, it always finds a way – Bertold Brecht**

**Chapter 11**

31st Grain Moon

* * *

Sleep was not an option.

The night would not last long anymore, but Murtagh had given up on finding rest a while ago, ignoring his scolding dragon, who had eventually resigned and gone hunting.

He was lying beneath a hazel bush, chosen in the evening because the ground underneath had still been dry. Over the hours, however, the persistent drizzle had leaked through the foliage, and now heavy drops were falling on Murtagh's face in a constant rhythm. He could not care less, though, as long as Eragon would not wake.

Murtagh tightened his grip on the body in his arms and checked with one hand whether his cloak was still covering Eragon's head, which was resting on his chest. He had lain like this all night, kept awake not so much by the fact that his own head was unprotected from the wetness, but instead by the worrying that kept him busy, the what-ifs, the fear for Eragon.

It had been close. Far too close.

When Thorn had descended from the sky and Murtagh had fully seen the danger Eragon was in, the realization just how much the younger one meant to him had struck full force. He could have slain the Urgals right there and then, his body had screamed to do so, but he had called both his dragon and himself to order once Eragon had been shielded. Killing Durza was one of his priorities, after all, and someone had to take command of the Urgals after the Shade was dead. They were not to be trusted, certainly, but Murtagh would rather see himself in charge of them than anyone else, and that would not be possible if he started slaughtering them now. _But they never should've attacked Eragon in the first place, for Tornac's saddle clearly shows my emblem… _He would give a lot to know their current orders.

Murtagh's eyes snapped open. _What are they doing in Du Weldenvarden in the first place?_

He knew the king would not have sent them, because he did not want them anywhere near the egg. Therefore, it must have been Durza ordering them here. _But why?_

_Thorn?_ Murtagh was wide awake, frustrated as so often that he did not yet see the whole picture.

_Rider?_ Thorn's voice was diminished, demonstrating how far he had flown.

_I simply don't understand… There must be something we're missing._

_Probably_. Thorn was gliding back and forth over a patch of ground where he had seen a boar duck for cover. _Mhm, pork._

_Thorn!_ Murtagh turned on his side, turning Eragon with him. The younger one melted perfectly into his body and briefly distracted Murtagh. He never tired of touching Eragon_. Let's see. _He focused on the conversation._ From the day I met Durza in Ceunon to the murder of the guardians of the eggs about five weeks passed. _

Thorn heaved a huge, mental sigh. _How many times have we been through this?_

_How often has there been a band of Kull coming after Eragon?_

The dragon only grunted.

_Thank you. So…__ you said Durza arrived in Uru'baen on the twenty-third last month and reported to Galbatorix right away. And a day later the king sought you out…_

…_ And, as I've told you before, _a slightly annoyed Thorn continued, _he wanted to know why you had suspected Jeod to be involved and whether perhaps you had had previous information. _His tone became sarcastic. _I did not even have to lie saying that you always, always have to know everything._

_Amazing how well we match in some respects, eh?_

_Aye. _Thorn chuckled and sent Murtagh an image of himself diving down towards his prey, finishing the unequal hunt within an instant, breaking the boar's neck with a clean bite.

Murtagh waited a few minutes, knowing better than to interrupt his dragon while he was still ravenous. _Then he wanted to know what else I knew, right? _he eventually asked. _And you asked back how I could with Durza talking to and killing my source._

_I am in awe about your ability to remember what I've told you.__ Told you more than once, actually. _Slowly a deep contentment coming from Thorn filled their bond.

_Good pork?_

_Of course. I chose the boar, I chose the time, I did the hunt. Of course it's good._

Murtagh ran a hand lightly over Eragon, careful not to disturb his sleep, and wondering whether he might be fond of hunting, too.

_Three days later I heard Galbatorix yell at Durza, _Thorn carried on unasked for. _Then Durza left – heading for Teirm, Shruikan told me – and it can only be to gain more news about Jeod… Demeca can't have told him too much._

_So he got to Teirm before Grimgald and Marus did. _Again Murtagh did the math, but it was the same result as always. _If only we knew whether he's here now because of something he learned about Jeod, or because he was supposed to retrieve the egg after Teirm in any case…_

_How are we to know? But he sure means trouble. If we only found him soon… Shruikan can't stand him either. He will back us when we kill a stinking Shade._

Murtagh snorted. _I'm not afraid of the consequences._

Thorn mentally snorted in response. … _Yet. _He had hit the mark as only someone could that was so often in Murtagh's mind.

Murtagh grimaced, postponing the still unsolved problem of dealing with Galbatorix after the planned murder of Durza. _Please, tell me again of Grimgald's death._ _I know there was magic involved, but how precisely still escapes me…_ He swallowed, tightening his grip on Eragon. _Damn! He was a good man!_

_It was two weeks after Durza's departure. He came from the west, from Teirm perhaps. I saw him enter the city – still looking fine – and I was close when he singled out your captain, Grall. _Thorn paused._ I've not seen anything the like before. He had not yet said a single word when his face already turned red and he staggered. Grall steadied him, but all the old man managed was pointing at me, at your crest on my saddle, and in the direction of the north. Last, he croaked something like 'blond stranger' – and dropped dead to the ground. _Thorn fell silent. _I'm actually sorry about this, _he eventually said, surprising them both. _Grimgald was a decent human._

_A c__urse,_ Murtagh spat. _There is no other way. I _know_ it was Durza. But… blond stranger? Why did Grimgald bring Eragon into this? What did they all learn in Teirm? Why is Durza hiding like a mouse? What are the Urgals doing here? _

_As always: I don't know. And enough for today. We'll be in Osilon soon, and __there will be things at hand to deal with first. A horde of charging elves, for example… Be patient for the rest._

Murtagh shook his head. _What if we don't learn-_

_Murtagh! Enough!_ Thorn cut off their connection, but only after gently brushing on his Rider's consciousness with his mind.

"What is it about you, little one?" Murtagh whispered into Eragon's ear. "What did Grimgald mean? You're like no other, I already know that, but that doesn't solve the riddle." He had never told Eragon about the words Grimgald had ushered before his death - had never told him about the death in the first place. "Hmm? Will you ever reveal your secret?" He placed a chaste kiss on the other's cheek.

Eragon murmured something in response, and Murtagh immediately stilled. For a moment, all he could hear was the rain dripping to the ground, making a sound whenever it hit a leaf. Then Eragon said some more, raising his voice on the last syllable. It was his strange tongue, _English_, and while Murtagh did not understand a word, he found it sounded far too coherent for someone asleep.

"Did I wake you?" he asked quietly with what he hoped to be regret in his voice. _Maybe he's in a kissing mood? Some diversion would be appreciated._

"_Whaddaya say_?" Eragon mumbled, twisting at Murtagh's side until he had turned around, looking out at the older one from beneath the cloak with sleepy eyes. "You're all wet!" he exclaimed a moment later, far more awake.

"I don't mind. Have you slept well?"

Eragon displayed a mixture of nodding and shaking his head. "I'm not sure about your sword," he said, the topic seemingly still fresh on his mind. "You truly need it, and I… I can't do much if there is an… an _enemy_. Not even with a sword."

"No discussion anymore. I've made up my mind. And I'll start teaching you attacks in the morning."

"But that won't help. It will take very long until I can-" Eragon jerked and sat up straight, his eyes wide and his head turning from left to right. "Murtagh!" he whispered, "what was that? Did you hear that?"

Murtagh smiled up at the dishevelled blond. Then another howl could be heard, and as the weather prevented sounds from carrying far, Murtagh knew the animal was not far away. "Have you never heard a wolf before?"

"A wolf? No! I mean, I know wolves, but I have not heard it like this, only in _teevee_… you remember _teevee_?"

"How could I forget? Come, lay back down with me." Not waiting for a reaction, he simply pulled Eragon down again. "You're not afraid, are you?"

"No." Yet a brief, nervous smile touched Eragon's lips, belying his words. "Not with you," he said with more conviction.

"Without me you needn't be, either. Only big packs in long, hungry winters pose a threat; all others are shy enough."

Eragon had settled back in Murtagh's arms, but not back below the cloak. "You never told me," he said eventually. "About the wolf, in the beginning."

"I didn't? But I told you that- Ahh. You didn't understand a word, right?" Eragon nodded and Murtagh laughed quietly_._ "Well, it was about wolves in general. You had asked whether I considered them good, and the only answer to that can be yes, for these animals mean something to me." He paused, thinking of a way to explain. "Wolves are… connected to my family, I guess. It goes back far longer than Morzan's long life. It's tradition that some families have an animal as… hmm… symbol perhaps. For us, it's the wolf, but I've come to learn that it's more than only symbolic. In my life, a wolf, or a sign of a wolf, has always been an indicator for a decision that is correct." He smiled. "I must inform you that now, with the howling, nothing can convince me of _not_ leaving Orúm with you."

Eragon grumbled something incomprehensible and then fell silent. After a while he asked, "What was the decision in the beginning?"

"Well, I chose to take you along, did I not? To get to know you. I'd like to think that it was a good decision…"

Eragon smiled at him. "I like it when you say that."

"Do you?" Murtagh stored the information away. "How could I not think that, though," he tried some more, "when I like you so?"

Eragon's smile turned radiant. "I like hearing that, too, because I like you, too."

_Definitely kissing mood_, was the last logical thought on Murtagh's mind only an instant later.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

_Shall I fly another circle?_ Thorn put some effort into hiding his annoyance, but he could not fool his Rider.

One week had passed since the rainy night, and for the past three days Murtagh and Thorn had been in the vicinity of Osilon, searching and finding the spot of Durza's ambush on the egg's guardians. The place, however, was heavily guarded by elves.

Meanwhile, Rider and dragon had run into more than one message clearly meant for them, calling for a meeting. Remarkable about this was that the sender was definitely of elven nature. Still, all three days nothing had happened. Osilon was on high alert, but both Durza and his Urgals as well as the host from Ellesméra were either somewhere else or extremely well hidden.

Murtagh shared his dragon's impatience; by now it had even turned into downright anger on his part. _We should answer their call and meet them._

Thorn growled audibly, as their presence was known anyways. _That would be madness! It's as clear a trap as it could possibly be._

_I know, but what else can we do? Circle over the city till the day the world ends?_ Murtagh was looking down, watching the small figures rush from one side of the open spaces in Osilon to the other. _Just because the last clash never led anywhere__…_

_It didn't? _Thorn played his trump. _It made us nearly lose Eragon to the Kull! And if I heard correctly, he wasn't completely believing you that our fight was only in self-defense.  
_

Murtagh grumbled a curse. _Bad luck. But this I can always call a trap, if need be. Now stop circling!_

_Circling is better than ending up as roasted dragon… Oh, wait, they don't eat meat. They'll only kill me, then._

_Afraid?_

Thorn leashed out with his tail, the tip just long enough to hit Murtagh over the head. _Watch your words, Rider!_

Murtagh remained calm_. What now? __Are you a dragon, or a rabbit? _

Thorn roared his anger at the taunt and automatically descended somewhat.

_A rabbit that can fly, apparently… Go down already, __we're going in!_ _It's the only way._

_You're in trouble for the rabbit! _Thorn breathed a tremendous flame, turning the air around him into a large, hot ball of fire. When the first elf below them called a warning at the change of action, the dragon dove down. _You know that taking off will be nearly impossible down there? If this fails, I will follow you to each and every life after __and burn you to death! _

Murtagh drew Zar'roc, readying himself to jump off. _Yes, I know. And there are no lives after this…_

_I'm a dragon! _Thorn roared anew, both internally and externally. _I will create the lives after this, if need be! _He was almost to the ground now, and very briefly communicated a completely different mood to his Rider. _Watch out and make me proud!_

_I'll follow your example! _

Thorn crashed down into a small clearing, smashing several young trees in the process. Due to endless practice, Murtagh found the exact right moment to jump off and not be paralyzed by the impact of the large body hitting the ground at such a speed. He lost his balance, but was immediately on his feet again, turning in a flash, sword protectively in front of him. Thorn turned likewise and sent darting flames in all directions to keep the first elves showing at bay.

_About fifty,_ Thorn reported, his vision catching even those that were still hiding in the shadows.

Adrenaline was rushing through Murtagh's body, which had been prepared to be immediately charged. _All armed?_

_Yes. All prepared for battle, but waiting…_

"You wanted me?" Murtagh hollered, looking at the elf closest to him, who stood about forty yards away out in the open, studying him. Murtagh smirked. "Here I am!" He tore his gaze away and slowly made a complete turn, catching as many eyes as possible. "Get me… if you can!" _What are they waiting for?_

_I don't know._ Thorn made a step and watched the elves closest to him jump back and retreat between the trees. _Trap…_

_I know!_ "One of the men you hate most is standing right in front of you, and you duck? You hide? What would your ancestors think?" Suddenly a shiver ran down Murtagh's spine, releasing another dose of adrenaline. _What was that? _"You cannot possibly be of the same people that once came from Alalëa!" He noticed how the earth beneath his feet began to shake. _I can't sense anything!_

_Me neither!_ Thorn's mental voice had the same edge to it that Murtagh's had. _I can't- Blast it! _He rushed forward to stand directly at his Rider's side. _Ellesméra has come!_

Murtagh noticed the elven army the same moment Thorn did, and his blood froze. The elves from Ellesméra was still far off, on the other side of the city, but urged their horses to great speed. _Where have they come from?_

Suddenly a violent hiss close to his ear had Murtagh move to the side, and not one second too late. An arrow missed him only by inches.

Osilon had opened the fight.

Thorn proved his immense speed despite his bulky body and leaped forward. He immediately killed the first two elves within his reach with his claws, biting off the head of a third. His spiky tail lashed from right to left, knocking down a few attackers, but soon the elves avoided it. Instead some tried to jump on him from the trees.

Murtagh stayed close to the front of his dragon and fended off a warrior attacking with two blades. A knife came flying for him, and he swiftly crouched down, only to cut through the legs of the elf opposing him on his way back up. Two new elves immediately replaced their fallen comrade, coming at Murtagh from both sides. He stepped back and whirled around – directly into the open blade of another elf. This one, though, was too close for Zar'roc to keep at bay. Murtagh's left immediately reached over his shoulder for Orúm, but there was only thin air. In the last instant, he managed to draw his dagger instead and ram it into the throat of the elf.

In the meantime, the host of Ellesméra was nearing at great speed.

From the corner of his eye, Murtagh saw a figure jump on his dragon, and Thorn's head snapped back, letting go of his latest victim. A female warrior lifted one scale with all of her might, then she drew a short, thick knife with her free hand. With one swift and strong thrust, she buried the blade in the soft spot where the scale overlapped the next, piercing through the flesh underneath. Thorn howled, unused to being vulnerable on his back. Not able to reach the elf himself, he rushed to the nearest tree and crushed her between his body and a thick branch. When he turned around to move back to Murtagh's side, he saw that the mounted army was almost there. _Rider!_

Having killed the two elves attacking him, Murtagh now found himself opposed by a small group of warriors, coming at him from all angles. Like a flash he moved in a circle; so far, Zar'roc's length hindered their progress.

_Murtagh!_ _To our right! There's a larger clearing where I could take off! _Thorn arrived next to his Rider and eliminated two elves by setting them aflame. _Run!_

_Flee?_

_Flee and live, you fool…  
_

Knowing his dragon to be right, Murtagh buried his sword in the nearest elf's throat, and, when drawing his weapon back out, he threw the dying man in the path of the other elves. Then he turned around and ran.

During the flight, he darted sideways every other step, keeping an eye on Thorn whose pace was hindered by the forest surrounding them. _We're almost there. Hurry! We must- _For an instant, Murtagh's step faltered, for he suddenly saw Arya and Islanzadí appear on the other side of the open space ahead, surrounded by about three dozen elves, rushing to meet dragon and Rider. _They have split up! Faster! We must get there first!_

However, it was only an instant later that he came to an abrupt stop.

Not far away in front of him, closer to his position than to Arya's, emerged a figure out of nowhere: Durza. And from the ground, as if they had lain there hidden all along, jumped a large horde of Urgals.

Murtagh did not have to say a single word. With a piercing scream erupting from both Thorn's and his lung, they were moving again, straight towards Durza, flight from Osilon momentarily forgotten.

_He's dead! _Thorn mercilessly smashed young trees beneath him, his fire not yet reaching the Shade. _I'll break his lousy neck!_

With a malicious grimace Durza watched them approach, the air around him crackling. Then, slowly and theatrically, he shrugged and turned around, slowly walking towards the oncoming elves. And those, Murtagh realized with astonishment, seemed not to see the Shade – all eyes were still on him.

He rushed right into the first Urgals, killing them as if they were not a good two feet taller than he was. From the corner of his eyes he constantly watched Durza, who was now at the edge of the large clearing, only a few yards away from the charging elves.

Suddenly the air around the Shade shifted, and Murtagh thought he heard Arya's frantic yell over the rest of the noise. Finally the elves were aware of who else they were dealing with.

An Urgal had come far too close to Murtagh, threatening to simply wrestle him down. Murtagh whirled around until the unprotected back of the creature was partly revealed to him, and he stabbed his dagger upwards through the ribs, hitting the liver. The Urgal stood paralyzed, then dropped down soundlessly.

Looking ahead again, Murtagh found the Shade engaged in battle with the elves. Arya and Islanzadí were fighting side by side on horseback, hindered to reach Durza by a dozen or so Urgals. At the same time, Murtagh heard the noise of the main part of the elven host behind him, louder than before, coming closer. Thorn looked back and confirmed that they were almost there.

_Damn!_ For a brief moment, Murtagh stood unmoving and uncharged, gaping for air. _We can't get him where he is!_

_No! _Thorn growled. _But they can still get us! Out of here! Quick!_

He resumed rushing towards the clearing, and without hesitating Murtagh followed. The distraction caused by Durza granted them enough open space to reach their destination. When Murtagh climbed on Thorn's back a moment later, he saw the Shade and the royal elves still locked in furious battle, spells and blades attacking and blocking. _Go! _He looked ahead and up, urging his dragon on.

Suddenly a once familiar mind touched on Murtagh's, wishing frantically to be heard. His head snapped back, and his eyes locked with the blazing green ones of Arya. He allowed for her thoughts to flow freely.

_Eragon!_ she cried, sending an image of the blond along. _See him safe, Murtagh!_

A giant Urgal axe came crushing down and felled her horse, and Arya rolled to the ground. A second later she emerged again, sword within seconds buried in the Urgal's throat, but the mental connection was fading. _Eragon_, she whispered. _Safe him!_

_Arya? What do you- Curse this! _Furiously Murtagh tried to rebuild the contact, but to no avail. Where Arya's mind had been, there now was only a thick, impenetrable wall _–_ and suddenly a battle cry. Durza, Murtagh saw, had singled out the warrior princess, attacking full force.

_What does he want? _Murtagh nearly yelled the questionat Thorn._ And what did she mean?_

_Later! _Thorn stopped his Rider's thoughts and spread his wings, made a giant leap into the air, and with a last great effort gained altitude, though not without some arrows hitting his soft underside. He howled, first in pain, and then, when leaving the trees below, in triumph. _Madness! I told you! But it takes a bit more to stop me… Stop us!_

A great noise from the ground had Murtagh look back down again, and he found the elves clustering around the place where Arya had been, screaming in anger and anguish. Durza, however, was nowhere to be seen anymore.

Neither was Arya, Murtagh realized.

He swallowed hard. If the Shade had overpowered her and vanished _with_ her… _That_ was a fate Murtagh did not even wish for Arya.

His eyes stayed on the ground, searching, when the figures grew smaller and soon vanished as the red dragon sped away to the northwest.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"You're bloody again!" Eragon's tone was full of both accusation and sorrow. He crouched down next to Murtagh at the little pond, watching a little helplessly while the older one washed his face and arms.

_I'll never get clean like this… _Murtagh cursed, swiftly undressed, and jumped into the water. At the moment, he could not care less whether Eragon was able to handle the naked skin or not.

He had found the younger one safe and unharmed, and the worry Arya had placed in his heart had diminished. _She must have been mistaken_. There was nothing in particular that Eragon needed protection of; it was only the overall situation that was threatening, and Murtagh was already doing his best to get him away from danger.

He dove down below the surface and stayed there until his lungs were burning, searching for the distraction that the physical pain was granting him.

In total, the day had left behind a hollow and very unpleasant feeling in his stomach. Going to the elves without a real plan had been foolish, killing so many had been unnecessary regarding the fruitless outcome, Durza so close and yet unreachable had him angry, and having to flee the battle in the end… The fact that Thorn felt even worse about this was not much of help. Fights always left Murtagh edgy, and lost fights were a torture.

He splashed through the surface, drinking in the air in big gulps. His gaze fell on his companion, who was still watching him closely. _I need Eragon,_ he eventually realized, _I need him close._

He waded back to the bank and pulled his shirt into the water with him, crudely washing the blood off. Eragon then did the same with his trousers and shortly after with the vest, too, and Murtagh nodded gratefully. "Thank you."

When he emerged from the water, Eragon had his face tactfully averted, but when Murtagh put his wet and cold clothes back on, he saw the other peep more than once at his body, and so he was careful to avert his scarred back. "What do you think?" he asked some time later, following an idea. "Would you warm me?"

"Mhm," Eragon agreed quietly, grabbing his cloak and approaching Murtagh, then draping it around him, finally a smile on his lips. "Wet clothes are not good for you," he said in a very motherly tone.

Murtagh smiled back, glad that Eragon yet refrained from blaming him for going into Osilon with the clear intention of picking a fight. He was certain that the younger one would bring it up at a later point. "Do I get more than the cloak?" he asked playfully and leaned in for a kiss. Only a moment later, the gentle meeting of their lips turned heated, and Murtagh buried his hands in Eragon's hair and pulled him down to the ground with him.

On his own accord, Eragon moved to lie on top, pressing his body full force against the other's. "You're cold," he whispered when the contact had lasted a moment. "That's not good. I don't like that." A bit hesitantly, he ground his hip against Murtagh's, and straight away his breathing turned a little raspy – as did Murtagh's. "I-I'll make your bo-body warm itself."

Murtagh's heart missed a beat. "Eragon," he whispered back, "I need you! Show me I'm alive!"

Blue eyes were narrowing, and Eragon drew back a little, biting his lower lip.

Murtagh hastily shook his head. "Only as far as you will go. _Please_!" His hands began to roam up and down Eragon's back, and he claimed the other's mouth in a searing kiss, taking away the chance to reply just yet. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed Eragon off and turned on his side, his free hand now stroking the other's stomach and slowly moving downwards.

Soon, Eragon broke the kiss and he stared at Murtagh wide-eyed, but made no move to interfere. When Murtagh's hand moved further and brushed in the lightest possible way over Eragon's groin, a little squeak escaped him, and when the hand moved upwards again, he raised his hips in anticipation to meet it.

_Yes!_ Murtagh locked eyes with Eragon, his heart warming at the trust he saw there. Slowly and for his standards very tenderly he began to caress Eragon through his trousers, and the younger one tensed his body, not wanting to miss the slightest touch. At the same time they began kissing again, but it were sloppy, careless kisses this time. Both their attentions were wavering greatly.

The flesh beneath Murtagh's hand was soon hard, and he smiled. _Wanting it or not, a male body at sixteen is both a curse and a blessing… _Yet he could not blame Eragon for how little time it had taken, because his body was in just the same state. Not stopping the ministrations, he rubbed his hip against the side of Eragon's body, searching for friction, finding it.

Eragon's breath turned more shallow by the moment, and he moaned several times into Murtagh's mouth. His hands were locked in Murtagh's hair, unconsciously pulling at it with quite some force.

Using his lips and tongue to coax Eragon into accepting what came next, Murtagh's hand briefly left Eragon's groin and moved to the belt. He swiftly unbuckled it and opened the trousers right after, and then his hand slid inside and encircled the younger one's length.

The next moan contributing to their kissing originated in Murtagh's throat.

"Co-cold," Eragon complained a moment later between two laboured breaths. "It's… so cold." Still, his hips moved against Murtagh's steady hold, trying to force the hand into movement.

"Is that all that's bothering you?"

"… Yes."

Holding back no more, Murtagh began to pleasure Eragon in earnest, running his thumb over the extremely sensitive head every now and then, sending Eragon into a constant shiver and eliciting a series of quiet whimpers. _Thank you, little one_, Murtagh thought, bathing in the feeling racing through his body. _Thank you for allowing me at least this. _

It did not take long until Eragon, his face flushed, arched his back and froze, covering both himself and Murtagh's hand in his essence. After that he lay motionless for a while, glowing, his breath slowly returning to normal. Only then did his hands begin to imitate Murtagh's earlier actions, searching what already was an aching hardness in Murtagh's trousers. However, he did not once meet the other's eye.

Murtagh growled quietly and closed his eyes, absentmindedly wiping his sticky hand in the damp grass around him. _Strange how they do it in Montana. Oh well…_ In his current state it did not matter much. The pent-up tension of the day and the sexual frustration of weeks quickly reigned over his body, and soon he tilted his head back and let the fire spread through his veins. His climax came fast and hard.

Afterwards he granted himself some time to both relish the afterglow and watch the gorgeous man at his side through lidded eyes. _Thank you…_

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

_What do you think __could happen?_ Thorn asked. _We've left him behind so many times… Or are you just eager for the next step and don't want to miss the moment?_

_Be quiet! _Murtagh patted his dragon goodbye and turned towards Ceunon. _It's only that I've never been this far away from him, _he explained over a growing distance, _never further than a day's flight. Now he's more than two days away. What if anything happens? I never found out what Arya meant…_

_Murtagh! Go find Marus, and then we'll go back and you can fuck him._

Murtagh cursed at his dragon. _I am worried, Thorn! That is what this is about, nothing else! Go hunt!_

_Sure…_ Thorn did not specify his remark and languidly took off. _I'll be back in an hour… Rider?_

_What? _Murtagh asked impatiently, stopping in front of the main alehouse in which he sensed Marus.

_I like him._

_I like him, too._ Murtagh closed the connection and walked in.

Marus was sitting close to the door, and apparently he had been watching the door – immediately he took notice of Murtagh and jumped to his feet. "Milord." He swallowed hard.

Murtagh stopped a yard away from him and inclined his head a fraction. "Marus." He scowled when he perceived the fear in the other's eyes, having completely forgotten about it. He had been with Eragon for so long now, and the young man had stopped fearing him weeks ago. _What have I done to Marus in the past? What have I _not_ done?_ He cleared his throat and softened his voice. "Good to see you unharmed."

Marus frowned. "Milord?"

_He doesn't know_… "Let's go somewhere private." Murtagh led the way back outside and into a dead-ended and deserted alley. "Have you come here from Teirm?"

"Yes, milord." Marus kept his distance, his expression full of questions.

Murtagh nodded, shuffling one foot through the dust on the street. _I can do this right! _"Grimgald is dead, Marus," he quietly told the ground. When he finally looked up again, he found Marus' face frozen; only the mouth was quivering. "I don't know yet how it happened, but he dropped down dead in Uru'baen. I… He was a good man. He taught me just as he has begun teaching you. Honour his legacy!"

"Milord." Marus nodded slowly and mechanically.

Murtagh shook his head. He had no time for this. "I need to know what happened in Teirm. May I?"

Marus nodded again, and again it felt as if he had not really heard. "Of course, milord."

Murtagh sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, then pulled off one glove and extended the hand to touch Marus' temple. Red hot magic immediately flowed through him and towards the contact, and with a strange, tingling feeling, he entered Marus' mind.

The contact was one of the things that greatly differed from the relationship of other high-ranking men and their soldiers. Every single one of Murtagh's guard had to agree to a spell in the beginning, a spell that opened their minds to their lord. It was how Murtagh had sensed Marus in Ceunon over quite some distance, and it was also how he was now creeping into Marus' memories by making physical contact. Murtagh could use it to spy on his men's loyalty, as well – the original purpose of the spell in Morzan's scheme – but he had not done it thus far, and never planned on doing so. He _knew_ the spell was wrong in the first place, and the last weeks, which had messed with his thoughts and outlook on the world so greatly, had increased that feeling. But at the moment, he was very glad to have a retelling of the events that would be far more comprehensive than Marus' frightened mutterings.

Murtagh closed his eyes again and merged with Marus' mind.

"_Nothing." Grimgald grunted and took a last, long look around in the remnants of Jeod's study. The furniture was mostly hacked to pieces, the draperies of the windows hung down in shreds, and books were shattered everywhere, torn out pages littering the floor._

_Marus had a sheet with some scribbling in his hand, which was not quite like a page in a book, but to him every letter looked just the same anyways. "If only one of us could read…" He threw the sheet away and followed his sergeant out the door, carefully stepping around the corpse of a dead servant.  
_

_Grimgald spat when they were out on the street again. "Damn this Shade! I'm certain he took all important information when he played havoc with this house."_

Murtagh rushed through blurred memories of his men walking through Teirm, stopping again when he sensed some excitement on Marus' part.

"_It's him!" Marus whispered, although the noise on the__ large, crowded marketplace would have drowned even a scream. "Disguised… but that's him, right?" A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he could not tear his eyes away from the tall, purple-clad man about fifty yards away from them. Durza had drawn his hood deep into his face and was looking at the wares on a foreign-looking stand.  
_

"_Yes," Grimgald confirmed, shaking a little. "He's still here? Strange… Maybe-"_

_He was cut short by a tumult on the other side of the place, and both soldiers climbed on top of some boxes to get a better view. They saw a circle of people form around a woman who had broken down and now staggered to her feet, declining all hands wanting to help. Next to her was a black cat, pacing to and fro and lashing its tail in the air. _

"_Angela! Angela the witch!" Grimgald told Marus with astonishment. "Look! She seems… disoriented, somehow. Her eyes… She looks strange." He shrugged. "But then, you never know with these folks."_

"_Listen!" Marus silenced the older man, sending him an apologetic smile right after. _

_Angela had begun speaking, and all other noise died out.  
_

"_Change will come!" she cried, loud enough for everyone present to hear, but she was clearly not aware of her surroundings. "It will come, soon, but it will not meet any expectations!"_

"_A prophecy?" Marus asked, his heart beat increasing._

"_Shhh." But Grimgald nodded._

"_Change will come from the outside, with the help of the dragons!" she continued, her voice high-pitched. People were breaking into murmurs everywhere, but she did not hear them. "The wolf is raising a cub, but young ones grow old quickly! Grow strong quickly!"_

_Grimgald head snapped around and the two soldiers looked at each other, both swallowing. When Marus turned his attention back to the witch, his eyes briefly grazed the Shade, and he found him staring at Angela as well. It sent another shiver down his body._

"_It's __a cub with a light fur, the colour of the sun, and soon it will rise, and the dark will have an equivalent." Angela smiled, looking at something in the distance that no one else could see. "But what if dark and light unite? A great power… A great change, too?" Her smile faltered. "Only the everlasting shadow stands a chance now. It has seen the light before, but did not understand… Change will come!" she cried once more, and then fell silent._

_Marus tried in vain to regain control of his shaking hands. Never had he been witness to anything the like before. "Gri-Grimgald…" he began, "the wolf. In connection with dragons…"_

"_Murtagh!" Grimgald agreed with a determined nod, clearly thinking hard. "Listen, Marus! I have a feeling that this means a lot more than the two of us can understand."_

"_The cub? Colour of the sun?"_

_Grimgald shook his head in disbelief. "Change will come from the outside, she said… __But it is not for us to decipher." He paused, and suddenly his eyes were drawn to the Shade, and he stopped all movement whatsoever. Then a croaked yell escaped him._

_Marus quickly looked in the same direction, and he found that the Shade's stare was not on Angela anymore, but instead on Grimgald. One clawed finger was twisting in front of his face, and then Marus saw Durza move his lips and lastly sneer. Finally the creature broke the contact and vanished in the crowd._

_Grimgald flinched and ran a hand over his sweaty, ashen white face. "Curse him!__" He sat down on a wooden cage and took a deep breath.__"__And he knows who the wolf is, too__…__" The next words were spoken quietly, almost only to himself. "The wolf is raising a cub, she has said… the wolf is raising a cub… Heavens above! Marus!" _

_The addressee nearly jumped. _"_Yes, sir?"_

"_I will go to Uru'baen. I must report this immediately. Thorn must learn that he's dearly needed in the north."_

"_And I?"_

"_Ride back to where we have come from!" Grimgald ordered without a trace of doubt. "Ride like a demon. Change the horse on the way as we have done when coming here. Find Mur- No, trust that he finds you. Go back to Ceunon. Tell him of the prophecy. Tell him… Tell him I believe the Shade is coming for Eragon!"_

Murtagh groaned and broke the contact, knowing instantly that his late sergeant's guess had been right. And if he took into account what Arya had said… She had been very close to the Shade at that moment. Had she learned something from his mind? And had _he_ learned something from _her_ in turn? Had he seen the cub in her thoughts, had he seen an image of Eragon?

The world around Murtagh started spinning, and the ground lost its solidness. _Eragon!_ He wanted to scream, but no sound escaped him. _Durza has come for Eragon! And he sure waited until I was far away__…_ Helplessly he stomped one foot._ Damn this world!_

Without a word he turned around and ran, ignoring Marus, and also seeing nothing of his surroundings. _Thorn! _he yelled in his mind with all his might, running even faster. _Thorn! I need you!  
_

He stormed out of the city and saw his dragon approach at a rapid speed. _Hurry! _His heart refusing to work properly, he finally mounted his dragon, choking on the air he was breathing._ Hurry, Thorn!  
_

Once they were heading back to Du Weldenvarden, he silently called for someone else, called repeatedly, but now it was no more than a sob. _Eragon__…_


	12. Fear has its use, but cowardice has none

**A/N: **Finally! For me, this was _the_ chapter. However, I need a few of you (according to several reviews) to expect _not_ to see your expectations met…

_To Eryl_: I'm sorry for the cliffie... or actually, I'm not. :) Thanks for reviewing!

_To Talitian_: I'm sorry the wolf thing contained so little mystery, but actually, it wasn't even supposed to be mysterious. And don't you feel like getting an account, perhaps, so that I could answer you more throroughly without taking away space in the chapter? I love to get back to reviewers!

* * *

**Fear has its use, but cowardice has none –**** Gandhi**

**Chapter 12**

September 12th

* * *

Now he also had to be idle, on top of all things. _Can't get much worse, can it? _

Having just reached the edge of Du Weldenvarden, Eragon was looking out at the plain in front of him. An endless sea of grass stretched out to the horizon, the monotony broken only occasionally by a bush or crippled tree or a larger rock. Still, the ability to see so much and not find the vision blocked by a tree after only a few yards was nice for a change.

He slid down from Cadoc and made a few steps forward, running a hand over the high, yellowish blades. Suddenly he smiled and looked at the horses. "Hungry? Today's special offer would be… grass. All you can eat!" His smile faded and he walked a bit further, dragging the horses along. Slowly he turned his head from left to right to take in every detail. To him, it looked just like the area around Ceunon, yet this time there was no town in the distance.

Eragon knew he would eventually find the town, and probably Murtagh, too, by travelling across the open to the northeast. But that was not an option, as his destination, Brom, was somewhere in the west, and moreover Murtagh had given him strict orders what to do when reaching the end of the forest: wait. _Wait and hide in the woods,_ Eragon heard the Rider's voice in his head, and he realized how he and the horses were completely out in the open by now, providing an easy target for searching eyes. Immediately he retreated back to the cover of the trees, walking for a minute or two until he found a spot he deemed suitable for a rest.

_Waiting it is, then_. _Waiting and worrying. _

Eragon removed the horses' saddles and bridles and hobbled their forelegs. When he noticed, however, how abrasively he was treating them, he paused and reconsidered, eventually sending them with a gentle pat to find their food among the herbs and spare grass in the forest. There was no need to vent off his foul mood on the two creatures that were proving themselves so loyal to him day after day after day. _Not like Murtagh,_ a small voice in his head whispered, but he shushed it angrily. He _knew_ it was not right, knew that Murtagh would remain with him if he only could, that he did not stay away so often by his own choice, but still…

Eragon was lonely – and often very afraid. His mind was left to roam freely during the long, long hours, and whatever he tried, with the help of his aching heart it chose to spend the time missing his friends, his mother, and, of course, Murtagh. The rest of the time, ever since the incident with the Urgals, he imagined hearing unusual noises in the forest or sensing someone watching him. And naturally it always felt as if the watcher was hostile. What if someone was there now…?

He shook his head. It was broad daylight and no one would attack him now. Should attack him now. Did he not look fearsome with Orúm? _Wait, where is it?_ Quickly the blade was moved from its resting place at his feet and fastened to his belt. He always carried it loosely tied to the saddle, as he had not yet figured out how to properly mount and dismount with the blade clinging to his body.

He walked a few steps, sat down, and used a piece of cloth to polish the sword, having learned weeks ago that he preferred keeping his hands busy. He could not imagine what he would do if he had to wait where he was for several days. Riding on and on had been tiresome, but at least there had been _something _to do. If he had to wait for Murtagh for a prolonged period of time, not moving at all… He shuddered.

Orúm glittered and sparkled whenever it was hit by a ray of sunlight, and Eragon's touch turned loving. _So beautiful! Just like its owner…_ By now, Murtagh had begun teaching him two basic attack moves, and had said more than once that he was pleased with the outcome, yet Eragon knew he was only at the start of a very long road that had to be taken. At the same time, though, he could already tell how his body was adapting to the constant practice. His speed and reflexes were improving, and handling the heavy weapon was doing nice things to his arms, Eragon thought. _And still I'm way thinner than Murtagh… Does he mind?_

He sighed. It was impossible to find out about Murtagh's preferences if he did not allow more contact. _And why don't I? _Never had he wanted anyone as much; his physical reaction to anything Murtagh did – and be it only a long glance or a smile – was something he had never experienced before. Last week had been… _oohhh_.

Eragon stopped polishing the sword and closed his eyes. It was definitely about time that he relived the events once more, no matter how often he had done so already.

When Murtagh had emerged from the pond, for some time wearing only very little, his hair hanging in wet strands over his face, half covering his warm, hazel eyes… A quiet moan escaped Eragon and he grinned at feeling his body stir. He _was_ ready – at least in his fantasy.

Apart from that, though, it was complicated.

Murtagh's actions – actions as in what his very skilful hands had done to Eragon in no time – would have proven his experience, if Eragon had needed proof. He had not.

Actually, he had even done these things with another person before, too, about half a year ago at some party. Yet it had been no more than nervous fumbling, as it was both boys' first time going further than kissing, and, most importantly, both had known exactly this about the other person.

Murtagh, on the other hand, had no idea about Eragon's inexperience. _I'm considered a man here,_ Eragon reminded himself. _And usually, sexuality is something already explored before adulthood. _Therefore, he had tried his best after his own peak, struggling to appear as if he had known what he was doing. _I finished him off, didn't I? And he didn't question me or anything later…_

With a sigh he briefly looked down at his crotch. Having learned that all these problems stemmed to a big part from the hormones being produced down there did not help. He still had to deal with everything.

The halfway constructed plan he had was to keep pretending and watch every single one of Murtagh's moves to later try to copy them. It had worked once – it could work again.

However, Eragon had also known for a while that Murtagh desired more, _expected_ more. It was not even as if Eragon was very much opposed to this; he had wanted to have sex for a while, and never before had he felt for someone as he felt for Murtagh, who, on top of things, was also the most attractive person Eragon had ever met. And yet…

Murtagh did have a rather gruff personality at times, and he was someone who always decided everything_, _including all things concerning Eragon, someone who fought on a regular basis – _killing people!_ – and even his kisses were more demanding than tender. Sex was as natural to him as breathing, and Eragon very much doubted that his character changed much during the act. _If_ Murtagh thought Eragon was experienced – _and why should he not? – _he probably would not worry too much about being gentle. _And they say that the first time hurts in any case, even if the top is careful, but if he's not…_ Eragon swallowed hard, his chest tightening.

Another option would be, of course, simply _telling_ Murtagh.

He snorted, the originally good mood gone completely. _Thinking that I was the one telling Murtagh that talking is easy… Bullshit!_ Never could he speak about this, never would he out himself as a fearful child in front of the other. _He would probably think it very strange. This is truly a get-it-done-and-over-with-world, and not one for me to make a fuss about this…_ The last thing Eragon wanted was to appear weak or unmanly, and therefore he had to keep up the façade. _Watch and learn,_ he repeated in his mind. And yet…

A very small voice in the back of his head kept nagging and nagging, and eventually he admitted to himself that there was another reason for not telling: the fear of Murtagh _not_ acting adequately during Eragon's first time _even though _he should be gentle under those circumstances. And this fear was tremendous, for Eragon could not entirely put it past the Rider.

Tornac neighed quietly and was looking at something between the trees before his head dropped to the ground again. Very grateful for the distraction, Eragon stood up and strolled over to the horses, covertly wiping away a tear that had rolled down his cheek. He would just keep quiet and see it through, and meanwhile hope that he had as much time left as possible and could get familiar with the intimate touches first.

He cleared his throat, feeling a tiny bit better at having made a decision. Taking the little horse brush Murtagh carried in his saddle, he began grooming the dark grey stallion, promising Cadoc that he would soon attend to him, too.

Lost in the regular motion of his arm, another thought hit him, and Eragon involuntarily burst out laughing, though even to his own ears it sounded hysterical. _Of course you yourself could top, Eragon. You're such an expert and all; you'll certainly make a great impression._

It was more than unrealistic.

Apart from him most definitely messing up the active part big time, Eragon knew for a fact that it was completely against Murtagh's nature. He thought that there could not be one person in history less likely than the Rider to submit in such a way._ I don't even think I'd survive asking…_ _No, watch and learn it is. And grit my teeth. _

Deciding that he had worried enough for the moment, Eragon groomed Tornac more forcefully, intoning a little tune to disperse the bad mood.

Within one hour, he turned two shaggy and dusty horses into two almost sparkly creatures, which pleased his eyes far more than their uncaring ones. "If you could only see yourself," he told Cadoc proudly. "All foxes, in this world and in mine, would be jealous of your colour if they saw you." Never once looking up from the herbs he was chewing, Cadoc at least snorted at the attention he was receiving. "Thank you, horsie." Eragon hugged his mount. "Thank you for having been so patient with me. I sure would not like _you_ bumping around on _my_ back."

With one last, final pat, Eragon left the horses behind and began wandering around aimlessly, heading back into the proximity of the plain. Simply wanting to move, he kept walking around, always staying in the shadow of the trees. He scanned the area for nothing in particular and let every little thing catch his eye. _Just no more thoughts about sex_, he ordered himself firmly.

It did not take him long, however, to retreat back deeper into the forest, drawn by an invisible force. Some inner unrest kept him up and about, and he began pacing in lose circles around his makeshift camp.

On the second lap, Eragon caught his hand clutching the hilt of the sword at his belt, and he finally stopped and scolded himself an idiot. He had to stare his hand down for a few seconds until it conceded and let go of the weapon. _What is wrong with me?_

He found himself standing next to a waist high boulder and pushed himself up to sit on it, forcing his tense muscles to relax and massaging his temples. After a while his unexplained nervousness diminished, the thought of Murtagh's expected return that night helping a great deal. Eventually, Eragon leaned back until his back made contact with rock, and relaxed.

The sunlight seeping in through the flickering leaves changed the colour behind his closed eyelids from dark to orange and back in moments, and when a breeze of warm air caressed his face, Eragon found himself finally enjoying the late summer's day. _If I could only share this with Murtagh right now. The beautiful forest, the warm light, the rustling of the trees, the birds…_

He paused in his thoughts and shortly after frowned._ Where are the birds?_

"Hello, Eragon."

Eragon's eyes flew open and he jerked up.

A chuckle filled the silence. "Turn around," the creepy dark voice instructed.

His heart hammering somewhere in his throat, Eragon did as told – and his breathing stopped. One of his worst nightmares had literally come to life. He jumped down from the boulder and staggered a few steps back. "Y-you… you are…"

Maroon eyes were blazing, otherwise the face was like a stone. "…Durza."

"… the man from my dream," Eragon finished in English, dumbstruck. In his head, pieces were falling into places, while his gut screamed at him to run, to flee, to get as far away as possible. But his legs only moved without making a step – they were wobbling. _Oh my God! Murtagh! Where are you?_

The Shade had cocked his head, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. "What was that?" He leisurely strolled closer, his long, purple robe hanging slack around his gaunt body. His posture was relaxed enough, but something in his eyes told Eragon it was only show, not to mention the impressive sword at the Shade's waist. "Am I scaring you?" Durza inquired in a tone that would make sure everyone's answer to that question was 'yes'.

Remaining quiet, Eragon stared in shock at the person approaching him. All the things both the elves and Murtagh had told him about Durza, and even more so those they had only hinted at, were fresh in his mind again. The feeling of his dream was back. _And I was worried about my first time…_ He felt a desperate smile fight its way to his lips.

Durza came to a stop a few yards away, folding his long, white fingers slowly in front of his body. "Talk to me, boy. I'll learn what I want anyhow; it's only a matter of how painful it will be for you before your eternal _obliveeon_."

"Obliveeon?" Eragon asked, not knowing the word.

"Many have hoped as you do," Durza explained with a falsely compassionate expression, "but once your soul is with me, it will merge with the others and lose its identity. You will cease to exist – and make me stronger."

Nodding, Eragon made a step to the side. Sweat was running down his back while at the same time he had goose bumps all over his body. _It's another word for death, then. _He slowly moved further, leaving the psychologically safe space behind the boulder, and instead half circled the Shade, increasing the distance between them. He wanted to be as close to the horses as possible, and although they were still at least a furlong away, hidden behind trees, he could not bear having the Shade stand in his way. "You're Durza," he eventually stated, beginning a conversation. His stomach was contracting so badly that he thought he had to throw up any moment.

"Why have you sought me out?" Durza asked, his tone now very business-like and serious.

_What__?_ Eragon tried to freeze his face into a mask to hide his confusion. "Why do you think I did?" _If I can only make him talk until Murtagh arrives…_

Durza sneered. "To warn me?" he suggested ironically. "To make me afraid of your coming?" The nasty chuckle was back. "Fool!"

Eragon still had no clue what the other meant. "Well… it worked, did it not?"

"No!" Durza spat to the ground. "And if you had summoned me to a hundred of your dreams, _outlander_, I would not have come."

More pieces were falling into place. _He thinks _I _forced that dream upon him? _Eragon shook his head. _But he was the one superior in my nightmare… _Figuring that being attributed such a power made him stronger than he was, he could not give away that the dream had not been of his doing. "You're here now." His voice held nothing of the authority that it should.

"You're his pup, that's why! Morzan's son needs to learn a lesson." This time, Eragon's lack of comprehension must have been obvious, for Durza continued after only a short pause, gloating. "He has not told you? I know that he's learned about it by now. He's been around so much the past weeks, always spying, sneaking around, always with that stinking dragon of his. He knows."

Eragon opened his mouth to speak, only to find out that he had nothing to say. _Pup?_ The shivering of his legs had crept upwards by now; his whole body seemed unstable. _Murtagh, where are you?_

"Ohh." The pale grimace imitated pity, and the Shade's voice turned bittersweet. "You're not used to him keeping matters from you? Let me guess: he's courting you! He tells you nice little things. He gives you all that you humans need for feeling well. Security, warmth, pleasure perhaps?" Durza smirked. "Make no mistake. You're nothing, and he will be gone the moment he learns what I've come to hear from you today. He doesn't _care_, boy. You've got to hand it to him: when it comes to gaining and maintaining power, he has inherited his father's talent. He's a capable bastard."

_No, no, no__! He's only talking!_ It did not help much, though, that the elves had said similar things. Eragon's mind briefly reached out to hear his heart's reassurance about Murtagh's feelings, but the latter was solely concentrated on frantically pumping blood through his system.

Durza's smirk widened. "I can tell those thoughts are not new to you. But I must correct what I said. Murtagh _would be_ gone the second he found out, for now that I am here, there will be nothing left that he could go away from. But enough of this. The prophecy was wrong, and I will prove it! You will not live to make a change."

Seeing Durza's hand move to the hilt of his sword, Eragon's eyes almost automatically darted to the sky. After all, the last time Murtagh had been right there when it had become dangerous. But nothing. All he could see through the trees was a perfect blue. _Far too beautiful a day to die…_ He swallowed hard, not quite accepting the reality he was in. _This simply can't be!_

"He won't come," Durza told him, gloating once more. "I admit that a Rider and a dragon are among the few that pose a threat to me, but he won't come. I would feel it. He doesn't care." Almost casually, he drew his sword.

All hopes failing, Eragon could still not accept reality. _I can't fight him! I can't fight anybody, and least of all him! _His thoughts became rushed, while his own hand reaching for Orúm moved only in slow motion. _I can't fight. I'll die. I can't fight the monster from my dream. I can't-_

Without a warning Durza leaped forward, sword arm outstretched, the weapon slicing through the air where fractions of a second before Eragon had stood. The next attack followed instantaneously, but steel only met steel in a shower of sparks.

Trusting his body which had begun reacting instinctively, Eragon parried two more blows, briefly registering that Murtagh had not yet attacked him full force when sparring: the real fight was as different from the usual blows as it could possibly be. With his arm feeling as if it was about to fall off, Eragon whirled around and managed to actually get away from the Shade. Using the little time this granted him, he sprinted back to his original position, once again bringing the boulder between him and Durza.

Durza raised an eyebrow. "So he has taught you to parry? Perhaps I should fight in earnest, then?"

_Fight in earnest? But_… _but I can't stand by while he slaughters me. I won't!_ After making up his mind, Eragon immediately stopped shivering and a strange calm overcame him. Suddenly he perceived the world around him in a never before known clarity – which included smelling his own fear. And again the realization that he was facing one of the most powerful men of Alagaësia hit him. _Just how can I prevent that?_

When the Shade rushed towards him, Eragon managed to block yet another blow, the impact nearly crushing his arm. He further hastened on around the rock, trying to use his only protection as well as possible. _I can't fight the Shade_, his thoughts made themselves heard once more. _Perhaps I'll survive another minute, but_ w_hat when I can't block anymore?_ _Where are you, Murtagh?_

A snarl erupted from Durza, and he dropped all mockery. Going at an inhuman speed, he had immediately caught up with his victim, aiming for his throat.

Somehow able to use Orúm's short length to his advantage, Eragon fended off Durza one last time, only to cry out in pain a second later. His opponent's sword had buried itself deep into his right thigh.

Smirking, Durza paused and retreated a step, clearly enjoying the other's pain. "_This_ hurts you, boy? You might have a problem with what's awaiting you, then."

Eragon was pressing a hand to his leg, but still the blood was running down its length, soaking the brown leather of his pants from the inside. The sharp, metallic smell of blood was pungent in the air. For some odd reason, however, there was no pain, nothing – yet. _I'm going to die! _he thought in astonishment. _In the middle of nowhere, in a place I don't belong… Mom!_ His face turned skywards once more. _Murtagh…_

Too late Eragon noticed Durza coming for him again. He tried to turn away, out of reach of the long sword, but his leg gave way the second he put weight on it, and suddenly he could feel it, too, feel it sending bolts of hot fire through his body.

The Shade's sword made contact with skin again, and a new, searing pain stopped all movement on Eragon's part altogether. Screaming in agony, he simply fell back against the boulder, paralyzed by what did _not_ feel like his back anymore. Still, he held on firmly to Orúm, his eyesight narrowing and blurry. _I'll die…_ Acceptance was still not present in his mind, but his thoughts already went the right direction . _I'll die, but I have tried…_

Durza stood in front of him, only at an arm's length away, sneering. "You are _so_ weak. The witch must have been mistaken, because someone like you won't change a thing in this world. Every child could beat you to death."

Somehow detached from his body and the circumstances, Eragon watched the Shade intently, for the first time seeing him so close by. His teary vision wandered down the blazing orange hair, the pale skin of the skull-like face, the eyes that seemed to be windows to a dark and corrupted soul, the colourless lips, eventually the finely embroidered purple rope, and, even further below, a hand with long, sharp nails, reminding him of a claws, holding on to what would enforce his death.

With a groan, Eragon straightened up as much as his body allowed him to, knowing that on his back, the green fabric of his shirt must have been turning brown. "What do you want from me?" he asked quietly.

"I thought that was obvious." Foul breath reached Eragon's nose. "Something is odd about you, boy. You called me to your dream, you were in Angela's prophecy, Murtagh keeps you close, and even Arya thinks strangely of you. I'm not one to take risks. Therefore, you must die!"

Concentrating on what was being said, Eragon repeated stupidly, "Arya?"

Durza surpassed his previous expressions by presenting a smirk so evil that Eragon forgot his pain for a moment. "Die knowing that Murtagh indeed tells you nothing, boy!" he half whispered. "Die knowing that you _are_ a nothing! Die knowing that Arya has suffered for you – in vain! Die knowing…"

Some distance away, a horse neighed, and Eragon recognized Cadoc's voice. His mind immediately blocked out Durza and he focused solely on hearing his horse another time, hearing it one last time. _Goodbye, my faithful friend_…

And then he heard something different, and it was a memory in his head.

"_All you ever need is a knife," Cadoc said, young Eragon on his lap. "I've been to war, Era, and there I fought with all the guns that existed, but when it comes down to it, all you need is a knife."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because__ when all fails and your enemy is close, overpowering you, you can still use a knife. The trick is, don't use it as he expects you to. Gain time. Go for the eyes, Eragon. Always go for the eyes. Then, you can kill him."_

"_Dad!" Marian scolded, "I__ don't want you to tell him that!"_

"_Remember what I said," Cadoc whispered into his grandson's ear, then gave him a little push and Eragon jumped down, briefly smiling up. _

"_Go for the eyes," the boy repeated._

"Understood?" Durza asked, unaware of his audience not listening to him.

Returning to the present, Eragon looked at the Shade, weighing his chances. _It's madness!_ Meanwhile his right hand left his leg and slowly moved upwards, until it came to rest on the hilt of the elven knife that he always carried tucked behind his belt. Usually, he used it for eating. Now, however, it was the carrier of his last hopes. _Everything in this world is madness, and I'll die anyways! _"Yes," he said, as unperturbed as possible.

The Shade nodded and bowed, as if following some sort of personal ritual. Then, fast as lightening, his sword came flying for Eragon.

Durza was not aiming to stab him, but instead to behead, some part of Eragon registered. With one last effort he avoided the weapon, far too weak to block it. While ducking away, his right pulled at the knife and he half jumped forward, raising his arm high in the air and bringing the short blade down into Durza's face.

Against all odds, he hit his mark.

A yell escaped Durza, and for one tiny instant he stood unmoving, shocked by surprise, the knife sticking out of his left eye.

With the desperation of someone sentenced to death, Eragon limped a step back, needing room to wield his sword. Without thinking, he rammed it from below the ribcage into Durza's chest, twisting it upwards, pushing as far and hard as he could, wishing with all his being that he would hit the heart.

One moment nothing happened.

The next moment, a piercing scream tore the air, coming from the Shade who had tilted his head backwards and was facing the sky. He had spread his arms to both sides, but apart from that he stood unmoving. The skin visible on his face and hands slowly lost its solidness, becoming paler and paler and finally translucent, just as the orange hair turned white.

In morbid fascination, Eragon watched how what once had been Durza's hands and face disappeared, but where there should have been flesh and bones there only was thick, black mist. Suddenly, the screaming stopped and the purple rope fell to the ground as if someone had just dropped it, and through its openings the black mist escaped, parting into three little clouds, which hurried away into the forest.

Frozen, Eragon stood next to what remained of his opponent – the clothes and the weapon – staring at it for endless moments with his blood slowly cooling down. Eventually Orúm fell from his hand, and he could not have picked it up again had there been an army coming for him.

_I have killed somebody!_ The blood loss made him dizzy and thinking became harder, but his mind was solely on this one fact. _I have killed!_ _I have killed!_

The throbbing pain in his leg eventually called him back to reality, and he realized that he could very well bleed to death if a larger artery or vein was hit. He limped a few steps away and then pulled down his pants. Seeing so much of his own blood made him nauseous, but he fought the notion and instead also pulled down the remnants of his shirt, tore it into strips, and created a makeshift dressing for his leg before fastening the stained pants around his hips again.

When he was somewhat satisfied with the result, his self-control finally left him and he slumped down, first to his knees and then to all fours, vomiting. Afterwards, he crawled a few yards until he could not see his battlefield anymore and dropped to his stomach. _I have killed!_

Tears were running down his face now, and Eragon rolled up into a ball, trying to comfort himself. _I am a murderer! _Cold was gripping all of his body and he could not feel his feet anymore. _Murderer!_ _I have killed!_

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Only later did Eragon realize that he was close to losing his consciousness that afternoon, maybe even close to losing his life.

While it was happening, he was not aware of anything, drifting in a dream world caused by shock and dizziness. Faces of people were flooding around him, always out of reach, always morphing into the grotesque visage of the Shade in the end. The nasty chuckle followed every chaotic train of thought, and there was blood, a never-ending flood of blood, covering all of Eragon's skin…

It was the noise of a busy woodpecker that brought his mind to the surface. Not yet opening his eyes, Eragon's ears twitched at the penetrating sound, and slowly the facts came back to him, and eventually he remembered where he was and what had happened.

When he opened his eyes he found the sun gone and twilight descending upon the forest, and he briefly wondered just what he had done all day since… since…

Suddenly he heard the sound that an over-dimensional bird might have created, and it was approaching fast. His heart immediately screamed out with all his might, for that was a sound he had come to look forward to.

"Here!" he croaked, slowly and carefully pushing himself up to his knees and then to his feet, swaying. A tree at his side helped him steady himself. His leg was completely numb and he did not dare looking at it, while his back still hurt like fire. "Here..." It was hardly more than a whisper, and his raised hand was just as futile, for Thorn was still in the air somewhere, not even in sight.

Still, only a minute or so later, Eragon heard the dull thud of the dragon landing close by, and right after, something came crashing through the forest. _Not something. Someone!_

"Eragon? Eragon? Are you there?"

_Murtagh__! _Eragon reached out with one arm in the direction where he expected the Rider to appear. "I'm here," he murmured.

It was not loud, but loud enough to call Murtagh to an abrupt stop between two beeches a few yards away, for one instant locking eyes with Eragon, his face torn in anxiety. Then he rushed towards him, no sign of relief visible yet in either posture or mimics. "Eragon!" He tore off his gloves and cupped the other's face. "_Eragon_," he breathed and crushed his lips to their counterparts as if his life depended on it. A second later he broke apart, keeping his face only inches away from Eragon's. "You're alive," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You _live_! I… I thought…" He blinked and did not finish the sentence, but instead stepped back. "Your body first." He pointed at the very bloody right leg of Eragon's pants. "Your blood?"

With a brief nod, Eragon watched how Murtagh crouched in front of him and opened his pants, then pulled them down to his ankles and removed the dressing.

Murtagh swore loudly when new blood spurted from the deep wound. "How?"

Eragon had to avert his gaze. "His sword. He… he stuck it in there, it- Ahhh!" Tears of pain shot to his eyes when Murtagh gingerly touched the torn flesh, and he leaned his head against the tree behind him, closing his eyes.

"Shh," Murtagh soothed, "I know it hurts, but I have to see the extend of… Right. Lay down!"

Eragon let himself be guided to the ground, but when Murtagh pushed his upper body back, he yelled out and froze in midair. "M-my back. I ca-can't…"

For the first time Murtagh looked at the body part in question, and a violent hiss escaped him. "Curse this! But it has to wait. Sit, then. I must attend to your leg first."

Eragon did as told, but kept his eyes closed. In general, he could see blood, but not if it was his own in such quantities. "Riders are healers," he repeated something Arya had told him, wanting distraction and reassurance.

"Yes, they are," Murtagh confirmed, "but… Look at me, please."

Eragon complied, only to be shocked by the apologetic expression he saw.

"Listen," Murtagh began, eyes still boring into Eragon's while his hands stayed on the leg, radiating a strange warmth. "I am a Rider, and as such, a healer, too. But…" He licked his lips. "I'll try my very best, I promise you that, but I… I have not learned much about healing so far. I'm not the best."

"You healed my hip," Eragon pointed out, the logical part of his mind working just fine. "You can stop a bleeding… right?"

"Of course. It's only… the hip needed a few days to heal completely. True healers laugh at people with so little skill. And your leg… I'm afraid that it will scar, at the least. I have fixed the muscles, I think, but your skin won't look the same in the future…" His voice drifted off.

A small, hysterical giggle escaped Eragon. "I'm _alive_. I don't care about a scar."

Murtagh acknowledged that with another nod, moving to Eragon's back and again doing something that caused his hands to be warm. "You _are _alive… But I must know something, Eragon, for I must finish this once and for all." Murtagh faced him, one thumb tenderly stroking Eragon's cheek. "Can you remember what direction the Shade took?" he asked softly. "I _must_ go after him."

_Go after him? Leave me?_ Eragon's heart missed a beat. _But… But I…_ "I killed him."

Blinking like an owl a few times, Murtagh eventually shook his head. "I don't know yet how you survived, it's a miracle, but still I must hunt him down. Believe me, I do not want to leave you again, truly I don't, but I have to-"

"No," Eragon interrupted him. "I killed the Shade. I _killed_ Durza." To his surprise, he noticed that Murtagh clearly did not believe him. "Murtagh, listen! I killed him! I am a _murderer_! It's true. It's… somewhere around here I did it. I crawled away. But somewhere here."

Murtagh stepped back, his eyes sceptical, but eventually he started scanning the ground in the darkening forest. Soon he was following a trace and hurried away, vanishing between the trees. A moment later, Eragon heard an utterly surprised exclamation, and further away, Thorn answered with a roar.

Murtagh came back running, carrying both Eragon's knife and Orúm in one hand, and the purple robe and Durza's sword in the other, looking as if had just seen a ghost. "You…" he began, then shook his head. "This cannot be, this- Eragon!" Suddenly his eyes were gleaming in the dark. "_Shadeslayer_! My Eragon! Alive… and _this_!" He dropped all items and embraced the younger one for the first time, holding him very tightly. "I thought I would lose you," he whispered fervently. "I thought I _had_ lost you. I knew I was too late, I thought you were gone. And now… now I find you alive and you _killed_ the Shade."

Eragon leaned into the warm body, more than grateful for the hand stroking the uninjured part of his back. Tears had begun to roll down his face again, unnoticed. "Yes, Murtagh. I _killed_ him." He nearly choked on the word. "Never have I… it's… it may not be… I'm a-a _murderer_…" A sob broke free from his chest and his voice failed him.

"No! No, no, no." Murtagh tipped Eragon's chin upwards with one finger. "You're not, Eragon, do you hear me? Durza was not as you or I are, or the elves, or any other race. What you did… The right word would be destroy. You destroyed a Shade. You killed nobody."

Eragon shook his head. _For him killing is normal. _"But… where I'm from-"

"No!" Murtagh grabbed his shoulders and shook him lightly. "Where you are from there are no Shades, so much I know. You did the only thing that was right, Eragon. You freed this world of a great evil. You did something people will love you for! Can you not understand that?"

"I'd like to…" Eragon admitted, sniffing.

"Then do it!" A crooked smile broke Murtagh's anxious and concerned expression. "I'd say you're nothing short of a hero now."

Eragon only shrugged uncomfortably. "It's not so easy for me. It's- No. No more of it now." He took one deep breath and found himself reeking of blood and even faintly of vomit. "I would like to get clean." It was as banal as it could get, but no less true.

"Of course. Let me help you." Murtagh took Eragon by one elbow, helped him up, and steered him along until they reached a small creek. He aided Eragon by washing his back, while the younger one applied the same treatment to the rest of his body. They did not speak at all.

After a while, Eragon even pulled off his briefs, for he felt the strong need to scrub every patch of his skin as clean as he could. All those times that he had been self-conscious around Murtagh seemed to have occurred in another lifetime.

"Better?" Murtagh murmured, not specifying what exactly he meant.

The cool water indeed helped a lot. Eragon renewed his efforts and rubbed his arms red in the process, only stopping when Murtagh grabbed his hands.

"Enough, Eragon. You're clean. And you're naked and it's a cool night. Enough." He draped his cloak around the younger one and pulled him away from the creek. "Thorn wants to _hail_ you, little one, let's go." A light smile was playing around his lips.

"Hail me?"

"You have destroyed a monster; dragons despise Shades." Crouching every now and then, Murtagh had assembled an armload of branches when they reached the little clearing where both Thorn and the horses were. The dragon roared in greeting and breathed a small flame, which Murtagh redirected with a motion of his hand to set the little stack of wood on fire.

Eragon stayed a step behind the Rider, as the loud, fiery mass of Thorn frightened him a bit in his current state. The next second, however, he saw the giant tail rushing towards him and immediately found it wrapped around his waist, and within one instant the dragon had pulled him close to his huge head, ignoring the shriek coming from Eragon.

Murtagh had crouched next to the fire and was watching the scene with amusement. "You've seen him do that with me, haven't you?"

"Seeing is different," Eragon said while staring into the huge red eye close to his face. "Hello, Thorn," he said tentatively.

"He says he's amazed by what the- err… what _you_ did," Murtagh explained. "Says you should not worry, for only a few in history have accomplished what you did today. He says that even he, as a dragon, takes pride in knowing you…" He whistled and exchanged a glance with Thorn, then laughed quietly. "Truly, never has he said these things about a human before. Even I was complimented somewhat on my skills as a teacher… Thank you, Eragon."

Feeling the muscle around him relax, and finally seeing the tail with its sharp spikes move away from him, too, Eragon managed a frail smile. "I… I am honoured, Thorn, but you don't understand. I did not do anything… I mean, I did not fight him."

A crinkle was forming between Murtagh's eyebrows and Eragon saw him make contact with Thorn another time. "You did not fight? How is that possible?"

"Well… I _did_ fight, but I did not kill him like that." Eragon thought hard for a moment, aware of the deepening confusion of his audience. _How, exactly, do I explain this?_ "We were fighting when… when I killed him, true, but I _tricked_ him. I did not fight like I think you would. I was only lucky. I tricked him… I killed him." The realization hit him anew.

Murtagh shook his head. "Thorn agrees that you should stop thinking about it in that manner. But tell me more. What do you mean, you tricked him?"

Remaining standing, dressed only in Murtagh's cloak, Eragon recounted what his grandfather had told him as a child and what he had done with the Shade.

Murtagh listened quietly, his head cocked to one side. "So this is the one you named your horse after," he said when Eragon had finished. "I do not understand that with the _guns_, but to me it seems like he was a wise man. I'm more than grateful that he told you of that strategy. It is not just a trick. You fought, and you used your knowledge to your advantage... and ridded this world of a horrible creature," he quickly added as an afterthought.

Hearing only half what Murtagh said Eragon shook his head, his mind reliving the memory again, and remembering more of it, too. "My mother said he should not tell me," he whispered, staring into the flames of the little fire. "She said knowing these things invited trouble, and that I should never get into trouble, for she loves me too dearly… _loved _me too dearly…" His voice broke. Suddenly overwhelmed, his legs buckled and he sagged down, caught in the last instant by two strong arms pulling him into an embrace.

"Cry, it helps," Murtagh advised, his voice soft and calm. "I'm here and I'll stay with you. I'll hold you. The Shade is gone and I'm here. Cry."

A mix of emotions flooding through him, Eragon eventually gave in to his despair and cried his heart out, his face pressed into the little dent where Murtagh's shoulder met his throat. He dug one hand into the older one's clothes, the other in his hair, and shivered and shook and wept against Murtagh until he was completely spent.

Eventually the spasms shaking his body lessened and Eragon took several deep, regular breaths to cool down mentally. Without thinking, he placed a kiss on the skin below his lips. It was a brief but nonetheless desperate kiss, and was followed by another and another, all along the form of the collarbone, leaving a wet trace.

Murtagh briefly stopped caressing his back, but resumed the motion only seconds later, perhaps going a little faster than before.

Eragon intensified his ministrations, nibbling and sucking and even biting, until his mouth moved upwards on his own, trailing an invisible path on Murtagh's neck and jaw, and eventually he found the spot he was looking for, and the kiss was answered with passion. _Ahhh…_

Eragon stopped clutching Murtagh's clothes and let his hands roam along the other's body, the pace and intensity ever increasing. He slightly shifted position, and more by accident than on purpose he grazed Murtagh's crotch with the back of his hand. The noise this elicited had Eragon repeat the action right away, although this time with his hand turned around and lingering on the growing hardness beneath the pants. "Is that alright?" he asked, shortly breaking the kiss and making eye contact.

"Of course… it is," Murtagh answered breathlessly. He avoided Eragon's lips for a moment and instead began to place kisses all over Eragon's face and eventually ended at one ear, nibbling at the lobe.

Eragon bit his lip to stifle a moan, but it did not help much. Hearing himself, however, turned him on even more, and he pressed his body flush to the other's, only half noticing that the cloak fell to the grass around him. What he did notice, though, and he noticed it very clearly, was the cool leather of Murtagh's clothes against his hot, hard, and over-sensitive flesh.

"I'll undress, too," Murtagh whispered, drawing back and hastily getting the task done, his shining eyes never once leaving Eragon.

Briefly wondering whether it was his breathing or Murtagh's that was so ragged, Eragon sat back on his heels and watched as more and more of the older one's pale skin glowed in the firelight. In one second of clarity, he realized that Thorn was gone, but so was the thought the moment after it had occurred to him.

In no time at all, Murtagh was back and set Eragon's skin aflame when he touched him. Not believing that it could – literally – get any hotter, Eragon quickly learned otherwise when he felt a hand that was not his own on his erection, and only instants later a second hardness was in the mix, too. Burning with desire, Eragon groaned his pleasure into the night when the experienced hand rubbed their cocks together, causing the most intense and disturbing friction he had ever felt. Only dimly was he aware that Murtagh was producing similar noises.

"Do you trust me?" Murtagh asked eventually, his voice trembling.

Even in his aroused state, Eragon immediately knew what Murtagh meant. He leaned back, cooling down almost as fast as he had had heated up. _What am I doing? Of course he can only interpret it one way…_

"Do you?" Murtagh urged, stilling just as Eragon had.

Never having told Murtagh that not having sex was not about the old 'If you're nice' agreement anymore, Eragon frantically tried to sort out his thoughts. _When if not now? I need him. And he needs me, too, there is no doubt. He wants me. I want him. _

So far so good.

_But what about the pain?__ He thinks I'm experienced. And he's not exactly controlled by reason at the moment… _He shook his head. _If only I had told him… _"Of course I trust you, Murtagh." _When if not now?_

Something started to burn in Murtagh's eyes. He grabbed his discarded cloak and spread it on the ground, then took hold of Eragon's arm and placed him on top. He kissed him briefly before his lips wandered down to the chest, attending first to one hardened nub and then the other.

Eragon tried hard to concentrate on the touch, tried to enjoy it as he would have only moments before, but his mind kept overruling his body. He closed his eyes. _The last thing I need is for him to see my fear. _Evening out his breathing, he forced his tense body to unwind.

Murtagh indeed seemed oblivious: he was panting as if he had just run a few miles, and one of his hands expertly kept Eragon erect. Eventually he moved upwards again and brought his mouth to Eragon's ear. "I thought I had lost you!" he said quietly, his voice a pitch higher than usual. "I would have gone berserk to avenge you, but I did not want that. I only wanted you alive. And alive you are!"

"I'm alive," Eragon said after him, and he fully understood what Murtagh meant, for he had not believed that he would see the sun set on this fateful day. He opened his eyes and reached out to touch the other's shoulder. "I'm alive," he repeated more forcefully. Very bravely, he added, "Don't make me wait."

Murtagh nodded while happiness, fondness, and eager anticipation were fighting for dominance on his face. "I won't. I'll show you how alive you are!"

Closing his eyes again, Eragon gratefully received the next kiss. Meanwhile he willed his legs to relax when he felt Murtagh pushing them apart, a calloused hand gently sliding between them and grazing the cleft between his butt cheeks. This, however, made Eragon blush deep crimson, his embarrassment temporarily overriding his anxiety. It got even worse when Murtagh began to chuckle.

"Clench together a little more and I might think you're a virgin."

_Now!_ a part of Eragon's mind screamed at him, _tell him now!_ But no sound escaped his lips. Instead, he regained control over his body once more and he unclenched the muscles in question. Murtagh, however, was not there to notice, and when Eragon opened his eyes, he saw the older one return from Tornac's saddle, carrying something, smiling at him warmly, _lovingly_.

"Make no mistake, I'd stay with you for the time needed if we did it without, but you'll have to ride tomorrow," Murtagh said jokingly. At the same time, his fingers had found Eragon's most private parts again, but they were slick now, slick and wet. "'Tis better this way."

Soon after, Murtagh lightly pushed Eragon on his side and came to rest behind him, murmuring something affectionately. Eragon exhaled deeply once. _No matter what, he can't see my face now._ He hummed quietly, pretending to react to whatever Murtagh had said.

Murtagh kissed along the backside of his neck, drawing patterns with his tongue. "I think it's better laying like this," he said quietly. "You're still so tense. Try to loosen up, Eragon, the danger is over." Slowly, one finger was pushing inside. "I can only imagine how terrible a day this must have been for you, but you made it. You make me so proud, little one. I know he has hurt you, but the pain is over. It's time to enjoy your victory, time to celebrate."

Eragon heard his own breath coming in uneven intervals, and he pressed his lips together to make no sound. It was so strange a sensation. Thus far he would not call it pain, but obviously that would change the moment there was more pushing in… He knew his erection was long since gone no matter how hard he had tried to keep it, and it was yet another source of worry. What if Murtagh noticed?_ Please, just keep going, don't move your hand somewhere else! _

At least this little was granted to him.

Murtagh kept to Eragon's earlier wish and indeed did not wait with anything. Far too soon for his liking, Eragon felt the second finger go in with the first, and not long after he was left alone for a brief moment, but only until the hard and warm head of Murtagh's erection lightly pushed against him. _Don't hurt me! Please!_

He had to learn quickly that being on the receiving end of gay sex could indeed be very painful.

Eragon had his eyes open again, trying hard to focus on the fire in front of him and ignore all about the fact that slowly but continuously Murtagh was entering him, pushing inside, never once stopping, not even when Eragon thought he was being torn into two and that certainly no more would fit in. Apparently, it did.

At the same time that Eragon heard a long, low growl from Murtagh behind him, he grabbed a corner of the cloak and stuffed it into his mouth, else a scream might have accompanied his crying. Somewhere deep inside of him, a little spark of anger flared up despite the ever present pain. _He says he likes me! Why does he hurt me so?_

The fire was completely blurry through Eragon's eyes, and the corner of the cloak soaked with saliva by the time that Murtagh's hip was finally flat against his. _Stop! Please stop! _his thoughts yelled, but he remained quiet.

The next hours, which probably were only minutes, passed in a haze.

Eragon further tried to ignore the actual sexual intercourse; instead, he concentrated on the touch of one of Murtagh's hands holding his hip in place, the thumb forever stroking Eragon's skin, and on the warm, wet feeling Murtagh's lips created on his neck with all the little kisses he placed there. Occasionally the older one would stop those ministrations and murmur something tender, but it was in a language Eragon did not understand.

Suddenly Murtagh began thrusting more forcefully, picking up pace, thereby unknowingly breaking all of Eragon's attempts to pay no heed to the meeting of their bodies. _Oh my God! Make it stop! Murtagh! It hurts! _Eragon was crying so hard, he thought the entire world could hear him. However, Murtagh's ragged breathing and sporadic groans seemed enough to cover the sounds that were proving the true state that Eragon was in. _Don't hurt me anymore! Make it end! _

As if he had heard him, Murtagh finished within moments after the silent plea. The strong, battle-hardened body went limp against Eragon, who, all of a sudden, found himself covered by his own cloak and cradled in Murtagh's arms, pulled firmly into the other's frame, their bodies still connected.

"Eragon," Murtagh whispered, his voice full of emotion. "_My_ Eragon! _My_ Eragon, who's alive and breathing and so tight around me." He paused, humming. "So good… I didn't even pay attention whether… well…you came as well, right?" he asked, suddenly deeply concerned.

"Of course," Eragon croaked right away, shivering despite the warmth surrounding him from all sides. _He's worried about me. He did not mean me harm. He's worried. _"Of course," he repeated, and for emphasis he added, "I'm already limp again, because I came so early." _That could be possible, right?_

"Oh." Murtagh ruffled through Eragon's hair, chuckling. "I'm afraid we must wait a moment for another go. You felt so incredible, I'm completely spent."

Panicking, Eragon hurried to assure Murtagh that he had had enough for the night. With the fire almost having died at that point, he also finally dared to turn around and face Murtagh, forcing a smile to his voice before he kissed the other. "Just sleep. No more today." _Please, please, please!_

Murtagh's answering smile was audible. "As you wish. Don't ever forget that I want to see you happy, Eragon. You want to sleep, we sleep."

Eragon only nodded and dropped his head on Murtagh's chest, moving as close to him as possible. _He did not mean to hurt me. He doesn't mean me harm. If I had only told him… No!_ He angrily killed that thought right away. It was too late, and he had had his chances._ Now it's done, and it's good. Even the pain is lessening already._

He only hoped that the aching emptiness inside of him would lessen, too.

* * *


	13. It is not love that is blind

**A/N:** Wow, I actually made it! I edited this chapter so much the last weeks, because I realized it had taken a direction I did not like, and while editing I got so unbelievably frustrated with what it was turning into that I wrote and rewrote the whole thing several times. For a few days I was then worried that I would not make the Thursday deadline. And now, after the changes in this chapter, I have to go and change _so much_ in what's next… Oh well, I'll survive. I only hope it'll all be on time.

In defence of the boys: Eragon has just been through quite a lot of bad experiences and is all messed up inside, and Murtagh… well, Angelike Riddle said it best in her last review, I think: "Murtagh might be a little inexperienced as well -- at least on an emotional level."

_To Talitian_: You're so sweet, you know that? I'm glad you liked the chapter so much, and, as I think you've guessed, both characters do have some issues to work on. By the way, thousands of people on ff have an account only for favouring stories.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

_Ono néiat haina eka?_: This actually translates into "you not harm me", which was the closest I could get to the desired meaning with what little vocabulary exists of the Ancient Language.

_Néiat_: Subsequently, this means "not". What I really wanted to say was "no", but there's no word for it…

* * *

**It is not love that is blind, but jealousy**** – Lawrence Durrell**

**Chapter 13**

13th Harvest Moon

* * *

_How was your night, Rider?_

Murtagh groaned. _What I did a moment ago was waking up, not asking you for conversation. _He opened his eyes and found yet another beautiful day dawning – until the huge head of his dragon blocked everything in his field of vision.

_He's lying naked in your arms, and you__ are naked, too. How was your night?_

_Go away! _Murtagh sealed their connection shut and instead turned his attention to the young man in his arms, and a smile crept on his lips. It was a gorgeous man.

With a puff of smoke Thorn trotted away and dropped to his stomach, watching both humans.

Murtagh lightly ran his fingers over Eragon's face, bit by bit exploring all the different textures. The brisk morning air had reddened the cheeks a little, but had not achieved to lessen the softness of the skin. The lips were drained of most of their colour and felt dry to the touch, but touching them Murtagh did, until some blood returned and painted them a wonderful shade of pink. _And the hair… so soft!_

After studying Eragon some longer, the thoughts of their very first meeting were back in Murtagh's head. _A farmer from the south? _He snorted. _Not quite._ Thinking about it, he decided that Eragon's skin was a lot lighter now than it used to be, so not even optically he was anywhere close to Murtagh's original suspicion. _And no more lying around idly in the sun here in Alagaësia… _While doubting that he would ever understand the customs of the other's world, regarding Eragon's skin colour it did not matter to him, anyways. _Fair or tanned, all mine!_

His smile widened when he recalled how one of his worst days had turned into such a night. First, there had been the horrible worry eating at him all the way from Ceunon, then, the endless relief when finding Eragon, finding him _alive_, and finally, the sexual relief both their bodies had screamed for. _How amazing he is! And how amazing he feels!_

A little frown fought its way to his forehead. _But again, this Montana is strange. So… impersonal. _Looking back, it was indeed odd how much Eragon had kept to himself. No eye contact, no kisses during the act. And little to no movement on his part at all.

_What if something _I_ did was strange for him, too – causing this?_ The frown deepened, and Murtagh let go of Eragon and sat up, one hand automatically reaching for his shirt and trousers. He had been a bit harsh last night, true, but there had been instincts at work, and he had felt those within Eragon, too, he was certain of it. _And I've done everything else he could possibly need – before and after._ _But still…_ _What if they are far more gentle during the act where he is from? _He growled quietly, earning a questioning glance from his dragon, who was no witness to his thoughts. _If that's the case, he certainly expected something similar from me our first time…_

So many mistakes adorned the path of his life, but hardly ever any when sleeping with those who agreed to it. It had been a natural gift not only to find all the pleasure he wanted, but also to grant some to a consensual partner. He knew he liked it rough, but in a case like this he had always adjusted… _But Eragon needed no adjustment, did he? I would have noticed…wouldn't I? _With a shock, Murtagh realized that he could not remember. Apparently his body had been more than just a little driven by instinct.

He stiffly stood up, saw to it that the cloaks kept Eragon warm, and put on his vest and boots and all weapons except Orúm. _I messed up. _The idea stuck with him, bothering him forever more by the minute. Not knowing yet whether it was even true, he strongly disliked the mere possibility.

Eragon stirred, and Murtagh was at his side in an instant and kneeled down. "Good morning, little one." _I guess he'll tell me off, then_, he concluded his train of thoughts.

Eragon tore his eyes open, confusion and panic shading them dark. "Murtagh!"

"Shh. Did you have another bad dream?"

Gradually Eragon's features relaxed and he took several deep breaths. "Yes," he said absentmindedly after a moment, waving a hand in the air, "it was only a bad dream. No more." But he was avoiding Murtagh's eye.

"Next time, tell your dreams to leave you alone... You're a Shadeslayer now!" _My Eragon!_

"Shadeslayer!" Wide awake now, Eragon sat up, even began to rise to his feet – but only to grimace and to sink back down. He blushed and draped one of the cloaks around his waist.

"What is it? Your back? Your leg?" Murtagh cursed his healing skills, or rather, the lack thereof.

Eragon shook his head. "No. No they don't hurt."

"Good." _Self-conscious again, then?_ _Oh, Eragon…_ "And yes, you're a Shadeslayer," Murtagh resumed the conversation, wanting to distract. "It's a very, _very_ good thing." He allowed his eyes to roam along Eragon's well-toned upper body. _And what a pretty Shadeslayer you are._

"No, no!" Eragon shook his head anew. "I don't mean… _He_ called me that!"

"Durza? When? Yesterday? _Why_?"

"No. Murtagh, do you remember many weeks ago, when I had a nightmare while we were riding? I didn't speak too well then."

"I haven't forgotten. What about it?"

"I… I dreamt of the Shade," Eragon said, somewhat astonished himself. "I forgot. I dreamt of him."

"Of… of _this_ Shade?" The back of Murtagh's neck prickled.

"Yes." Eragon frowned. "I never knew who it was, but yesterday, when I saw him, I finally understood… In that dream, Durza called me _Shadeslayer_." He laughed a short, humourless laugh. "It was there, all the time! I just never made the connection between… between the horrible thing in my dream and what everyone told me was called a Shade!" He paused. "_Why_ did I dream of him?"

Murtagh knew it was a riddle he could not solve. "I don't know. It's odd, to say the least. Are you… Have you ever had a dream like that before? Where you saw what would happen in the future, or saw someone you'd meet in the future?" _Or do you have any other abilities similar to those of a Shade? _he asked in his thoughts, concernced but also strangely curious.

"No…" Eragon said, pondering. "No, never," he decided after a while, dismissing Murtagh's unease. "But things are different here, maybe that's why… I don't know." He shrugged and sent the other a crooked smile.

Murtagh returned the smile, relaxing. "I don't know about different, but things definitely are strange here at times." He went from kneeling to sitting, more than glad that the younger one did not confront him about the sex just yet. He pushed the topic away from his mind as well. "That actually reminds me that there's something we need to speak about. Durza… he did not happen to mention a light furred cub to you?"

"A what?"

"A young wolf? No? Well…" Murtagh wondered how to tell Eragon, and decided to go for the truth… perhaps a well worded truth. "I've learned something in Ceunon, see? Don't let it worry you, but I think you should know. I learned of a prophecy." He scrutinized the younger one for a moment, but when there was only curiosity, he deemed it safe to continue. "Have you ever heard of Angela, Angela the witch? Good. Then listen…" He gave Eragon a detailed account of all he had seen through Marus' eyes, choosing what he said carefully, depending on whether Eragon was looking confused, afraid, or disbelieving at the moment in question.

Finally he ended the report by admitting that the prophecy did not completely make sense to him, and, by the look of it, Eragon whole-heartedly felt the same. "But whatever she meant, it drove the Shade here, or rather, it made him come looking for you, and I think it was something he found in Arya's mind that did the rest. She helped identify you, I think, with an image in her mind, perhaps. And now we have to reconsider just why you are _not_ like others."

"Arya!" Eragon's eyes went wide, and he seemed to remember something, ignoring all else that had been said. "He said she has suffered for me! What is with Arya?"

"I don't know. Suffered?" Murtagh wondered whether anything in connection with Eragon would ever be _easy_ or _logical_, and decided no. Suddenly he felt Thorn's presence again, asking for entrance, and he found two large, red eyes fixed on him. _What is it?_

_I would have told you after you had answered my question, _Thorn said casually. _Arya is here as well. Found her this morning._

_What?_ Murtagh was immediately on his feet. _Where? How?_

_About three furlongs to the east, _Thorn continued in the same manner,_ injured and under a spell. She was probably dragged along after Osilon, and Durza did…Shade things with her._

Without further thought, Murtagh started running.

"What's happening?" Eragon called, confused.

Murtagh skittered to a halt and turned around. "Arya's here somewhere, injured. I'm going to find her."

Surprise and anxiety overruled confusion. "Arya? Arya is _here_? I'm coming, I'm…" Eragon jumped to his feet, clutching the cloak to his waist, and scanned the ground all around him, an ever deepening frown on display. "But… but my clothes are destroyed!"

"Look in Thorn's saddle bags." Murtagh picked up pace again. "We will be in the east, not far, you'll find me!"

Following his dragon soaring overhead, he hurried through the forest and very soon caught sight of some bundle lying on the ground. When he arrived at its side, all earlier anxiety concerning the previous night were forgotten.

Arya was rolled up into the position Murtagh had seen dead foetuses in, her knees drawn up to her chest and her hands clenched into fists and close to her face. Her skin was dirty and bruised, and her hair tangled and matted. Behind closed eyelids, her eyes were darting around frantically.

Within moments Murtagh's hands were roaming over a very pale and far too warm elven body, feeling for any injuries that his eyes might miss. With relief he found his suspicions unconfirmed, but only until he took a closer look at the only obvious wound which was on her right shoulder.

He guessed that Arya had tried to bandage it on her own some time ago, with a strip torn from her tunic, but that had not exactly helped. He pried the grimy cloth away, and the stench escaping had him wrinkle his nose. A large, deep gash was greeting his eyes, and it was already rotting at the edges. _Curse this!_

_How is she?_ Thorn had landed as close as he could, eyeing the elf curiously.

_Not good. _Murtagh picked Arya up and carried her over to a puddle of clear water. _I'm helpless when it comes to inflammation. _He began to wash the gash. _You should have told me! _

Thorn regarded him sceptically. _…It's Arya, of all people._

_Well, yes, but… I don't know. You should have. _

In that moment, Eragon broke though the bushes and spared Murtagh any further confusing thoughts. The young man stood stark and stiff for a moment, taking in the picture presenting itself. Briefly, his eyes were locked on Murtagh's arms around the elf, and Murtagh saw him square his shoulders, but then Arya alone became the focus.

Eragon made a few steps, kneeled down next to Murtagh, and gently laid a hand on the woman's cheek. "Is she… she is alive, right?" His voice was a pitch higher than usual. "Her arm looks horrible!" Lines of worry spread on his face.

"She's alive, but not well," Murtagh explained. "Unconscious because she's under a spell. And her arm is infected, which is the most imminent danger." He paused when an idea struck him. "Quick, Eragon! I need the brandy. Get it!"

"Now? You want me to go back?" An unsuspected spark of rebellion flared up in Eragon's eyes, but then he looked down at Arya again and changed his mind. "I'll hurry." He vanished where he had come from.

For an instant, Murtagh found himself distracted by Eragon's concern for the elf, but then he shrugged it off and resumed washing the shoulder. Once the wound was clean, he sat back on his heels and brought up a hand to cup Arya's forehead with it. To confirm how feverish she was, but also to try to establish a mental connection.

The well-known red glow from his hand brought some life back to her face, but Murtagh knew it was only an optical illusion. Yet no matter how much magic he used, all he could find was a strong wall around her consciousness, and it was one that was not of her doing. Very faintly he could sense her presence, or rather, he sensed a tremendous amount of pain and anguish and it was in the language of her mind, but it was all behind that impenetrable wall.

He sighed. _This is bad, Thorn._

_And it's still only Arya,_ the dragon repeated.

Murtagh shook his head, his heart suddenly heavy. _Yesterday this time, I thought that in the best of circumstances I would find Eragon in the state she's in…_

_Arya, Murtagh! Not Eragon!_

Murtagh could not help but smile. _Yes, I know. _He looked at the woman in his arms some longer. _But what about this: we'll bring her back to the elves and use that for a truce of sorts. I, for one, would not mind a period without the entire army at our heels. What do you think?_

_Hmm._ The presence of a justified argument rendered Thorn speechless for a moment. _Then do something so that she won't be dead for the occasion!_

_I'm trying. _A moment later, however, he gave up on his renewed efforts to enter her mind. There were mental footprints of Durza everywhere, and he would have needed time and solitude to figure out how to breach or circumvent them. _This is why you should have told me earlier that-_

"Here!" A red-faced and panting Eragon had appeared out of the blue, carrying the brandy as well as his cloak. He draped the cloth over the main part of Arya's body, crouched down as earlier, and held the brandy out to Murtagh. "But… but you're not using it with the wound, are you?" His eyes darted back and forth between the alcohol and Murtagh's face.

Murtagh looked at the other, confused. "I wasn't going to drink it," he remarked sarcastically, then shook his head. "Of course I'll use it with the gash – it's inflamed." He reached for the brandy.

"No!" Eragon pulled his hand back. "Don't. It's not good. I know you think that you need it, but it's better without." He stopped Murtagh's next approach by grabbing the Rider's wrist.

Murtagh regarded the tight grip sceptically for a moment before yanking both his arm free and the flask from Eragon. "What do you mean?" _He's so different today…_

"In my world we know that you do it like this, but our _syance_ has found out it's not good. Trust me, Murtagh. Don't do this to Arya. It might harm her!"

…_only because of her?_ Murtagh's stomach made an odd, uncomfortable squirt. "_You_ know what _we_ do?" He could hear the strange tone to his voice himself. "How? Is there something you haven't told me?"

"No." Eragon nervously licked his lips, but made an apparent effort to keep his voice calm. "It's only that you, I mean, Alagaësia and the people here, you, her, the others, everything is like it was in my world in the… the old days, and-"

"Quiet!" Murtagh hollered, as angry as he always was when someone defied him, even though it was not just someone this time. "Watch and be quiet or leave me alone!"

A shadow immediately clouded Eragon's eyes and he withdrew a little. "Don't harm her! I know better with the brandy, it's-" He fell quiet when he noticed that Murtagh ignored him. "It never matters what I say… or not say," he whispered eventually with a strange edge to it, and then, with more force, "But you don't care, do you?"

Murtagh had opened the flask with his teeth and spat the cork out. "One more word and you'll be very sorry." He hardly noticed what he said. Pointedly, he turned his back to Eragon and poured the first amount of alcohol on the gash. Arya's body jerked up and she whimpered, briefly torn from the unconscious-like state of the spell by the burning pain. Immediately Eragon moved around Murtagh and took one of her hands once more, watching her with his lips in a tight line.

Murtagh changed the angle a little and poured some more liquid on the suffering flesh. Arya flinched again, and from the corner of his eye Murtagh saw Eragon flinch along, the pretty face contorted as if _he_ was hurting. _Don't, boy! _Murtagh silently threatened, then tried his upcoming suspicion with more brandy – and received more flinching. _All because of her?_ "Eragon," he began, voice dangerously quiet. "Stop that! You're bothering me!" He tore a clean strip of cloth from Arya's clothes and renewed the dressing.

Eragon was watching his every move. "I am bothering you?" he asked in a furious whisper. "Good to know." His glance wandered to Arya's sweaty face, and his tone softened. "It's only… I want her to live. _I_ care for others." He fell quiet for a moment. "…You don't want me there when she's in your arms, do you?"

Murtagh bit back the sharp reply that immediately sprung up in his mind and instead lifted Arya and started carrying her towards their camp. Intentionally, he held her closer and more tenderly than he would have under any other circumstances.

"Where are you going?" Eragon called after him before stumbling to his feet and following. "Talk to me, Murtagh!"

"Talk to you? _Talk to you_?" Murtagh turned around and faced the younger one, seething. "_You_ just insulted me, and before you would not stop bothering me. Listen closely, Eragon! I know you like her, and I know you want to take her and cuddle her and kiss her healthy again, but-" Eragon opened his mouth in protest, but Murtagh was faster. "But that's not an option, don't even try. I'll get her to the elves now. For that, I need Thorn, and for him, I need the saddle. If you're smart, you won't interrupt me." He walked on, his blood boiling.

Eragon stayed at his side, more stomping than walking himself, and grumbled something. He was, Murtagh was certain, swearing at him in English, but in the end he only demanded, "How did I insult you?"

_If my hands weren't busy holding Arya… _Murtagh tried to ignore the other, tried to control all body parts that were capable of dealing a blow or kick. _Did he think of _her_ last night? Was it that what made it strange? _The thought made him sick.

Eragon sprinted a few yards and blocked Murtagh's way. "_How_?" Both his expression and his voice had a quality to it that Murtagh had not only _not_ experienced before, but that he also could not place.

He did not like it at all.

Still, he would not answer yet. Instead, he went around Eragon and arrived at his dragon's saddle and put Arya down. "You said," he eventually produced between clenched teeth while fumbling with the leather straps around Thorn's body. "You said that… you rather implied that I don't care about anyone. After all that I've- You shouldn't have said that." He threw Eragon a sharp glance, but only to be slightly unsettled again.

The moment Murtagh had let go of Arya, Eragon had crouched at her side and taken her into his arms, cradling her close to his chest. However, he had not quit looking at Murtagh. "But _do_ you care about… about _any_one?" The question held a strange double-meaning, and so did his eyes.

_This is annoying,_ Thorn suddenly cut in. _Can't you end it? Little humans have the tendency to-_

Murtagh shut him out. Reason was the last thing he wanted at that moment. "What do _you_ think?" He nearly tore Arya away from Eragon and hoisted her to his dragon's back.

"I don't… answer me!"

With one swift movement Murtagh seated himself behind the elf. He looked down at Eragon, who returned his gaze angrily, although Murtagh thought he saw the corners of the other's mouth quiver, and those eyes… _Blast it!_

He swallowed down a lump in his throat and tore his gaze away. Something was completely wrong, so much he already knew. "I'll be back later." Thorn took off.

"Do you care?" Eragon yelled after him, his voice breaking.

Murtagh never answered.

After a few moments he threw one last glance to the ground, watching Eragon become smaller and smaller, thinking that he looked so very young all of a sudden. Young and helpless. And it was sadness that had replaced all other emotions on the younger one's face.

Something inside of Murtagh cracked. _Gods above, Eragon! What happened?_

Thorn sighed. _If you want to know… You are being your father._

_What? I'm… What? Go back!_

_I certainly won't__. _

_Turn around! _Murtagh yelled mentally, but Thorn only growled.

_Get your senses back together first! We're going to the elves now. _He slid through several layers of air until he found a wind suiting him, then increased his pace and rushed them east.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"Two months."

Murtagh nodded, his eyes on Islanzadí although he did not really see her. _After all that happened. _"… Two months." _After last night!_

The queen flicked her tongue. "But it goes without saying that the moment you commit any cruelty, raise the weapon against any of my people, this truce is void."

"Sure…" _But he shouldn't care for her like that anymore! _Murtagh shook his head, and for a split second he was surprised to find himself surrounded by elves. He pinched the bridge of his nose and scolded himself a bloody amateur. The meeting was far too important not to pay attention to. "Same for you. Attack me or my dragon, and we'll forget about this agreement."

_Seems to me they're able to break the spell, _Thorn remarked, being able to observe the bundle of elves around Arya from his heightened point of view.

A murmur suddenly swept through the crowd, and some of the hostility in the air around Murtagh was lessening. "It wasn't too late, then?" _At least one thing I got right today._

"No. Arya will live," Islanzadí said tentatively, but when any sort of negative reaction on Murtagh's part failed to appear, she added, "which she wouldn't without you. I owe you my thanks, Rider."

Again, Murtagh only nodded. _Was this worth being harsh towards Eragon, Thorn?_ "…Excuse me?" Something else had been said.

Thorn snorted, which caused a little flame to show at the tip of his snout and had several elves draw their swords. _Was any harshness needed in the first place? A dragon would have known better…_

"Unless you mean to go against your Rider, Thorn, you will not provoke us!" Islanzadí shot the huge head above her a stern warning glance. "I said," she turned back to Murtagh, "that I was not the only one surprised by your deed."

_Is that hope in her eyes?_ "I surprised myself. But imagining someone else in her position scared me and-" Murtagh bit his tongue and glowered at the queen. "Work your magic on someone else," he growled. "My motivation is my own!" He turned around and stomped to his dragon. "Two months it is," he called over his shoulder.

Immediately Thorn hurled himself up and gained altitude. _You just turned yourself into a complete mystery for them, _he commented with amusement. _Emotions were the last thing they expected from you._

_Emotions! If I have any__ at all, it's always the wrong ones showing! _Murtagh straightened up and threw his head back, longing for the cold wind to wash away some of the recent insanity from his mind. Soon he noticed, however, that it was no more than wishful thinking. _In less than an hour so much has changed… Why?_

_I'm not sure what you mean. _But at least Thorn seemed in a mood for the conversation.

_You know exactly what I mean! Earlier you said I was my father!_

Again Thorn had found a wind that pleased him and he turned west. _You were. And you were on a course of self-destruction._

_Self-destruction? I was only-_

_Shut up, Rider! _Without warning, Thorn drew in his wings and dropped several yards, knowing exactly how much Murtagh detested this. Once he sensed the desired nausea through their connection, he resumed flying peacefully. _The little thing has crept into your heart, _he explained, _and with going mad like that you'll only cut your own flesh. And I'll never get my female dragon. _

_Crept into my-__ As if, Thorn._ _And I am not going mad. Too many people around me have done that already. _

_Then shut up already and settle this! It is annoying! _Thorn cleared his mind of any coherent thoughts and instead regarded the sky around him, adorning it with countless adjectives and comparisons.

With a somewhat angry sigh Murtagh understood the hint and did not force any more questions or musings on his dragon.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Thorn landed close to the horses, sending the hobbled Cadoc stumbling deeper into the forest. _He's out on the grassland, in case you were wondering…_

Murtagh untied himself from the saddle, slid down, and after a moment chose to leave Zar'roc behind, wanting to look as harmless as possible. Walking in the indicated direction soon turned into a swift jog towards the plain. His mind was blank, and had been for a while, so he simply decided to go with the moment and situation at hand. _If only he hasn't cried…_

Soon the forest thinned out around him, but only when he had left it behind completely did he catch sight of fair hair amongst the yellowish see of grass, both rippling in unison when a light wind came up.

"Eragon," Murtagh called softly to announce his presence, but he could as well have whispered it, for Eragon failed to react. Hesitantly he neared the other, who was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs. _So…small._

Murtagh came to a halt about a yard away, and after standing there rather stupidly for a while, sat down on the grass as well. For some reason, being close to Eragon brought memories back to his mind, and it were not the pleasant ones of the previous night, but instead he saw once more how the other had held Arya this morning, his eyes tender when watching her, accusing when watching Murtagh…

"You're back." Eragon's voice was even and calm, resigned somehow. He had yet to look at Murtagh. "How did it go?"

Murtagh took one deep breath. _Talking is always a good start, they say. _"Good, I think. We've made a truce."

"A… what? What about Arya?"

Murtagh grimaced. "She'll survive."

Eragon remained motionless.

"…Happy?" Murtagh eventually asked.

Eragon looked at him for the first time, and it was a very strange look, one that Murtagh could not identify. "Yes, _I _am happy. Are you, too?"

_No,_ Murtagh decided, _he hasn't cried. _He felt a little better. The other's tears had an unsettling effect on him, and they would have made this so much more difficult. As often before he recalled that one night in the very beginning, and the mere memory had his chest tighten. Even back then the tears had been disturbing, and to imagine that now _he_ could have been the cause for some reason… _No! He hasn't cried. It can't have been too bad, then._

After a while, he realized that Eragon had actually worded a question, but he refrained from replying. Eragon would not get sarcastic with him.

"No answer?" Eragon was randomly pulling out blades of grass, his face averted once more. After a while he sighed and asked, "Are we going to this Brom now? Can you tell me at least that?"

"Yes, we are." It seemed as if the question had actually been a different one, but Murtagh was only able to answer the obvious.

"Shall we get the horses?"

"We should."

Neither moved.

"Are you riding along with me?"

"Yes."

His previous nineteen years assured Murtagh to carry on in this manner, but all of a sudden both his heart and his conscience made themselves heard, and after he had stomached his surprise, he changed course. _Curse this! _"Eragon… I _do _care." He had to clear his throat. _Look at me, please! _"And… and it's you that I care about." _And I've never said that to anybody_. "And I _do _care about what you say, and-"

"Stop!" Eragon held up a hand to silence him. He turned his head towards Murtagh, his face distanced, far away somehow. "Those are only words. This morning you did not care about what I said. All you cared about was… was…" He fell quiet and never finished the sentence.

The way his precious, rare words were ignored was like a slap in the face, a blow that took some time to recover from. In the end, Murtagh only asked mechanically, "What did I care about?"

"You better ask what you did _not_ care about!" Anger was creeping into Eragon's voice. "It's all well as long as you get what you want, is it not?"

Murtagh leaned back from the other. "So this is about last night," he guessed, and guessed right. While earlier the day the topic had made him fret, he now mentioned it bitterly, mentioned it like an accusation.

Eragon grunted, his face disbelieving. "You… what? Last night? This is about last night? I knew it!" He jumped to his feet, looking down at the other. "When I saw you with Arya this morning, I knew that… knew that you… you only conquer, right? You told me all that about her so that you could have me… _use_ me… but you really want _her_, right?" He was downright yelling at Murtagh. "Now that you had me, you're going back! I knew it!"

_The bastard is blaming me? Me? _Murtagh was rendered speechless and motionless for an instant, but then jumped up as well, clenching his hands into fists. "You dare telling me that?" he hollered. "All _you_ did last night was think of _her_! You did not even look at me! And here I was, afraid that _I_ had done something wrong!" He spat to the ground at Eragon's feet. "Don't ever, _ever_, accuse me of using you again!"

Eragon watched him throughout the whole shouting, his face set and defiant, even though, as earlier the day, the corners of his mouth were now quivering. "The way you held her this morning… You didn't want me there!"

Murtagh shook his head. "I wanted you to quit interfering," he explained, then felt the fury inside rise again. "But you! You were all worried about her, and when you got a hold of her… You cradled her in your arms!" He kicked at a stone at his feet; the memory was hurting as much as the one of Eragon and Arya kissing, only this was so much more recent.

Eragon regarded him endlessly without saying a word, only the wind rippling in his hair causing any movement on his part. Finally he spoke, frowning. "You say that… _I _want Arya? That _I_ thought of her last night?"

"You didn't?"

"No! Curse you, Murtagh, no!" Eragon yelled, desperate. Right after, he broke eye contact and made a step away, shaking his head. Murtagh thought that he had seen tears beginning to form. "You are the one liking her! Like her better than me. You care, you say? You care, maybe… about _her_!"

The tone in which the shouted argument was presented pierced right through Murtagh's thoughts, and now it was his turn to be silent for long minutes. As far-fetched as the accusation was, there was no denying that Eragon truly believed it. Little by little Murtagh's anger ebbed away, and it was replaced by an ever growing realization. "Are you…" he began, looking at the other who did not return his gaze, "are you _jealous_ of her?" A mixture of a laugh and a bark escaped him. "Of _Arya_?"

Eragon turned his attention back to him, his face well composed again. "You like her," he repeated more calmly.

_How stupid! _Now Murtagh was laughing in earnest, even though it was shrill and humourless. "_You _like her! Not me, you! No, don't say a word!" He choked on his laughter, and the following coughing fit wiped some of the momentary madness away. "Can't you see, Eragon?" he asked in an almost excited whisper. "It's so obvious!"

Eragon just watched him, his lips pressed together, and Murtagh dearly missed the spark of hope or understanding that usually showed in the blue eyes when he explained something.

"I do not like Arya. I… I _hate_ that woman. Still, others I hate even more, I now know that, and… somehow I don't think it was wrong to save her life. But I do not like her."

"…You don't?"

"Do you?"

Eragon grimaced. "I… you know I do. But," he hurried to add, "I've told you I don't like her like you thought… And now I think I know what you mean."

They were both quiet then, the only sound caused by the wind sweeping over the plain. Their eyes were locked, and Murtagh knew that Eragon was judging him just as he was judging the worth of Eragon's words.

"Well…" Murtagh eventually broke the silence, "why _did_ you avoid looking at me last night if it wasn't about… you wishing there to be another face? I mean, you didn't… did you?"

While Eragon was still shaking his head in answer, his mask suddenly fell, and from one moment to the next, tears were running down his face. "I… should I have looked at you?"

_What__ kind of a question is that?_ "Well… yes."

Eragon nodded, squeezing his eyes shut which sent more tears rolling. "Then I know now… Would it have changed something, though?"

"Change? So you wanted it differently? Wasn't it-" Murtagh paused, remembering what he had pondered about that morning. "How do they do it where you're from?" All of a sudden he was dreading the answer. "Different?"

"Different?" Eragon sat down, or rather sagged down. "Maybe. I don't know."

Murtagh quickly sat down as well, extended one hand – but pulled it back before making contact. Even with as little as he knew about relationships, he felt that it was a crucial moment. _Last I need now is for him to shy back from me. _"I know that in different regions there might be different… forms or levels of intensity of sex," he began carefully, _lied_ carefully, for he only guessed and did not truly know. "But different doesn't mean that it can't work out," he explained eagerly. "Just tell me how it is in your world and we'll find a way. We'll make it good!"

Through his tears, Eragon actually smiled at him, but it was a sad smile. "I don't know."

Murtagh licked his lips in utter concentration. "You mean… you don't know what I mean?" He was concerned of getting any part of his argument wrong, too well aware of how big a mystery the workings of Eragon's mind still were to him. "I think that some practices are probably different in our two worlds," he reworded his earlier sentence, "and maybe only very few the same… Well, the only one I can think of is that with virgins, you should be careful everywhere." And yet, the moment he said it, scenes from his past flashed in his mind, scenes where he had inflicted tremendous pain on several of said virgins, not caring, laughing about them afterwards. Now, however, the memory made his cheeks burn in shame. "Apart from that, though-"

"Murtagh!" Eragon croaked, "I do _not_ know any differences _or_ anything… anything same in our worlds!"

_What? _"You… don't? But how…? Why?" _How can't he?_

Eragon swallowed hard, blushing as well. "I-I-I," he stuttered, then took a deep breath and broke the eye contact. "I," he began anew, sobbing, "I have n-not done it… before… before yes-yesterday."

_No!_ "No!" After an instant in which his heart had frozen, Murtagh was on his feet again, pacing to and fro, throwing an occasional panicked glance at Eragon. "Tell me that's not true! Tell me!"

Eragon hung his head and his shoulders were heaving with every sob. He did not answer, only cried.

"You… You're a man!" was all Murtagh could think of to defend himself. "This can't be! You're a man!"

It earned him Eragon's attention. "I'm sixt-t-teen," he pointed out, "not a man."

"What? But-"

"Not wh-where I am from! I'm not a man… at home." His voice broke. "Murtagh, I am sixteen!" For him, it was apparently all the explanation that was needed.

And in any case, it was enough for Murtagh to understand.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart hammering in his throat as it usually only did on a battlefield. _A virgin?_ An ice-cold shiver ran down his spine. _I took a male virgin like that?_ One look at Eragon convinced him that he was not having hallucinations or a nightmare. _No! Fate, no!_

Eragon was looking at him now, his eyes wide and wet, everything about him proving just how much he was hurting, but also that he was… expectant?

Murtagh's heart rate increased. _I am to do something? But… but what?_ Suddenly he felt sick to he core.

Eragon slowly raised a hand up to breach the distance between them. "Murtagh…"

In the mental blackout following, Murtagh just turned around and ran, ran as far away from Eragon as he could, ran until his lungs were on fire.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Thorn sighed. _Two yards to your right. _

_Ah._ Murtagh quickly covered the distance and picked up Zar'roc, which he had been searching for a good five minutes. The lack of success was probably due to him not really seeing the ground at his feet – and Eragon watching his every move.

"Straight west!" Murtagh called, his voice strangely twisted. "I… I'll find you."

Eragon just stood there, not indicating whether he had understood or not. With his shoulders hanging and a face like that of a person condemned to death, he kept staring at Murtagh until dragon and Rider had disappeared out of view.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

A very light shuffling of feet had Murtagh freeze to the spot.

Peering around the corner of the house, he saw a cloaked figure hurry through the dark alleyway. Judging by the size and the small shoulders he figured it was a woman. His guess was confirmed a moment later when she stopped in front of a house, looking carefully from left to right. Then she pulled back the hood and nervously ran her hands through her long locks before knocking on the door. Only seconds after, the door was torn open by a young man with a candle in his hand, and, upon seeing the woman, a radiant smile on his lips. In the next instant, she threw herself in his arms and subdued laughter reached Murtagh's ears. Still hugging each other, the two went inside and closed the door.

Murtagh swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat. _Even those who harbour a secret and forbidden love affair are happier than we are…_ It took him some effort to clear his mind of the last picture he had of Eragon and instead focus back on the task at hand. With three swift strides he had crossed the street and entered a small alleyway.

When the sun had still been above the horizon, he had spied on Carvahall from a little hill in the surrounding woods, and eventually he had made out the tall, proud form that he had been looking for. Brom had looked alert back then, though, watchful, and now Murtagh was concerned that the former Rider would use the cover of the night to vanish just as he was using it to approach.

When he neared the house he was aiming for, his steps became shorter and even more careful; in the end, he only tip-toed. All was quiet in this part of the village, no light shone from any of the neighbouring houses. Slowly Murtagh crept around Brom's home to see whether there was a backdoor or any open shutters. The back of his neck was prickling, sending constant warnings, and his magic was only fractions away from breaking free and turning the whole place to shreds. Somehow the mere possibility of Brom being present made Murtagh feel ten years younger – and ten years less experienced.

After finishing the circle he was standing at the front door and took a deep breath. _There is no one in this world that I don't stand a chance against! _He vehemently ignored his heart, which disregarded his warrior skills and instead screamed back at him _'There is!'_

Soundlessly he drew his long sword, and wished he had the shorter blade to draw as well. But when he had left Eragon he had not been able to take Orúm away, too afraid of another unwanted danger that the younger one could have to fight against. _The Ra'zac could be close…_

Quite angry with himself for getting distracted again, Murtagh shushed any thoughts and instead called upon his instincts.

Little by little he lifted the door latch, then pushed the door open forcefully so that it did not provide a hiding place for an enemy.

The room in front was dark, and the little cone of moonlight that Murtagh had let in did not allow him to see further than the length of his sword. Swiftly he closed the door again, not wanting to be such an easy target against the subdued light.

Once the outside world was shut out, he allowed his magic to flow freely, and through the gloves the red light illuminated the shapes of a table and chairs at his left, and a fireplace to his right. In front of that fireplace stood an armchair with its back to Murtagh, and the moment his eyes graced it, the prickling on his neck became almost painful. Every muscle prepared to strike, he circled the armchair.

It was not empty.

The moment Murtagh perceived the person, a spell ready in his mind and his sword eager in his hand, the person moved – and lit a candle.

"Murtagh." The candlelight with its deep shadows showed each and every year of long life on Brom's face. He looked calm, or at least, he would have to most onlookers. Murtagh, however, was not fooled that easily. The taut muscles caught his eye, as well as the too fast breathing caught his ear.

"Brom." Involuntarily he inclined his head a fraction, and was well aware that the other would not miss this sign of respect – and that it was involuntary.

"Look at my right, Rider." Brom said, his voice deep and a little raspy. "I only need to pull at the rope and the entire first floor and roof will come crashing down. Kill me, if you like, but the whole village will know you're here."

One corner of Murtagh's mouth twitched upwards in a smirk. "Are you trying to _scare_ me with that?"

"No." Brom was smirking as well. "But you have put a lot of effort into getting here unnoticed, and I'm sure you want to leave secretly as well."

_Damn you, old man! _But finding out that Brom had known he would come, and had apparently used the last hours for preparation, raised Murtagh's guard even higher. While he was not afraid to cross swords with the older man, well aware of his superiority in strength and agility, he knew what the other was capable of in all other aspects, and he had been warned of a brilliant mind. After all, the fall of the Forsworn was largely due to this one person. "I have not come to kill."

"No? To steal the egg, then? It isn't here."

"I know. And why would you call it stealing in the first place? It belongs to… us."

Brom's eyes narrowed. "The king has stolen it long before I did!"

Murtagh shook his head, mentally pushing back the attack spell he had readied. "It belongs to the next Rider, and it will be the egg choosing him, not us. But I have not come to talk possessions, either."

"No?" Brom asked again, but did not have a third alternative prepared. "What is it, then?"

"Talking, perhaps? Isn't that what two people do if they don't kiss or kill?" Murtagh asked sarcastically.

"I will not talk to someone whose body is as set on murdering me as yours is." Despite these words, though, and Brom's general alertness, there was no _mortal_ fear visible on his part, and Murtagh wondered what he might have up his sleeve.

"It is not for you to set the terms!" Murtagh hissed, but at the same time realized that in the end, he wanted Brom to do something for him and thus should go about it differently. "Fine," he amended right after, "I'll get a chair." Walking backwards in the direction of the table, he clearly saw the sceptical look on Brom's face, probably to do with his quick concession. _Just do some wondering, old man. I have some surprises up my sleeve as well_.

A moment later he had grabbed a chair and neared the candle again, sitting down about three arms' length from Brom. He lowered his sword arm, but did not let go of the weapon.

After that, they sat silently for long moments, staring each other down.

All of a sudden something to Murtagh's left rattled, and shortly after an item dropped to the ground with a loud clang. Like a flash he was on his feet, bringing distance between both him and Brom, and him and the noise. Meanwhile Brom had jumped up likewise, his before hidden sword ready in his hand. His eyes darted back and forth between his unwanted guest and where the tumult had come from. And right there, in a moment where both humans were looking, a cat emerged in the cone of candlelight, a mouse in her mouth. Unperturbed, she walked, almost paraded, the front line and then vanished in the dark again.

"Undbitr still suits you well," Murtagh remarked after a while, "and it still looks sharp, too."

"Of course," Brom said grumpily, "who am I to abandon my sword?"

_Shall I, or shall I not? _As, so far, he felt nothing of his father's hate towards this man, Murtagh decided to take the initiative in a more trustworthy manner. "The next cat might start a fight," he tried to joke. "We should put our swords away."

Brom cocked his head and studied him for long moments, then gave a short nod. "Over there!" He pointed to the table.

Overly cautious, both neared the furniture, and after some hesitating put their swords on top. Their steps exactly the same length, they walked back and sat down.

"_Ono néiat haina eka_?" Brom suddenly asked sharply.

"_Néiat_!" Murtagh replied. "And I'd like to get to the matter now."

Brom motioned for him to begin and, while closely watching Murtagh, began fumbling with a pipe.

"I take it you have heard of the prophecy?" Murtagh knew that for Brom, living as far away from everything as he did here in Carvahall, the distance did not mean a shortage of news.

"I have," Brom agreed, face impassive. "Have you inherited the title?"

Murtagh grimaced, preferring not to be reminded. "I have. Wolves are a family thing."

Brom nodded. "Who's the light cub?" came the next, inevitable question a moment later.

"A young man," Murtagh replied, not yet willing to give too much away. At the same time, his strictly controlled thoughts were briefly overruled by emotion, and it was as if a dagger of ice pierced his heart when he thought about the pain he must have inflicted on Eragon. Not only during the act, but also after, when running away instead of comforting, as Thorn had pointed out more than once on their flight here. _The wolf was supposed to protect the cub_…

"Why did Angela speak of dragons, not dragon?"

"I don't know."

Brom scrutinized him again for some time, but in the end seemed to be convinced that Murtagh had spoken the truth and returned some of his attention to his now glowing pipe. "Why did you come?"

Murtagh smiled in anticipation of the reaction. "To ask a favour of you."

Brom's head shot back up and he coughed on the recently inhaled smoke. "A _favour_?" he asked, wiping at a wet eye. Then he laughed a little. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Perfectly sane," Murtagh commented, still smiling. "I must say, I have often imagined what it would be like to meet you, but I never thought you'd lose your composure like that in the process."

"Respect your elders," Brom mock-scolded, but then seemed to remember that he was not talking to some children from the village. He turned serious again. "I need more information."

"Certainly." Murtagh nodded. "This is about the light cub, actually, for he needs protection. By now, about every party involved wants him, I think, even the elves whose guest he has been." It was not as if he was unaware of Brom's growing astonishment, but he just continued, his thoughts on Eragon, his heart heavy. "This is really about _his_ safety, see? The favour I was talking about only consists of me… me being happy if he's well."

Brom raised an eyebrow at this, but else hid his thoughts behind a mask. Eventually he said with a hint of amusement in his voice, "I'm afraid I still need more information."

Murtagh nodded again, having expected no less. "The name is… Eragon. And he's from far away, _very_ far away. So far, that he has never heard of dragons or Riders, has never ridden a horse, never held a sword." _And these things he does so wonderfully nowadays._ "He… he has learned, of course, but he's not up to this war. He should not be. It isn't his." He went quiet, his chest tight. _And he needs someone to care for him as he deserves._

"I never knew there could be remnants of your mother behind those looks," Brom murmured, almost to himself, then asked more loudly, "Alliances?"

Murtagh had shot the other a sharp look at the comment, but could not detect any hostility behind the words. "None. Opposed to the king, though, I think I can safely say."

"_And_ travelling with you? I've yet to hear of someone surviving those circumstances…"

"Don't judge what you don't understand!" For a moment, Murtagh glowered at the other. "He… it wasn't exactly his choice," he carried on more calmly, "but now it is." _Is it still_, _though?_ some small voice asked. "…What do you know of friendship, Brom?"

The old man considered his answer. "I was friends with your father once… What else do I need to know?"

Now his anger got the better of Murtagh. "Do not imply that I would betray him! I am not Morzan!"

Brom smirked. "You sure look like him."

"A son doesn't choose his father!" Murtagh needed all his willpower to remain sitting, knowing that all else would be seen as an act of hostility.

Brom must have sensed the anger, for he inclined his head a little and said, "Well spoken, Shurt'ugal."

Murtagh took a deep breath, shot the other a last warning glance, and continued. "I wanted to say that we're friends, despite all differences, despite all obstacles." And all of those flooded through his mind now, and he dearly wished that they still were what he was telling Brom, especially because they were even _more_. "Believe me, I have not made it easy on him – you know what they say about me, right?" He grimaced. "So much of it is true, and so much he had to experience… but not anymore." _Liar! _"I want to bring him to you, for I must go to battle, and I will not take him anywhere close to danger."

Brom thought for a long time, his posture noticeably relaxed now. His bushy eyebrows were drawn together in concentration. "How old is he?"

"Sixteen, but not a man where he's from." Murtagh swallowed.

"And you want me to… look after him? Protect him even? Look at me! I don't have a warrior's body anymore, and my magic… Tsk! I shouldn't be telling you that!"

"Fear not. I'm not your enemy." _Truly, he isn't. Who would have known?_

"I did steal the egg…"

Murtagh chuckled. "Aye, but take a look at who you've stolen it from. As long as it doesn't get into Varden hands, I'm happy it's gone from Uru'baen. And _yes_," he added, stressing the words, "I _know_ you founded the lot of them." He could see that Brom had not known that he knew. His smile turned into a smirk. _You're not the only one with information…_

"You didn't answer my question," Brom changed subject.

"True. Well… All I want is for you to let him live here with you, and all you have to protect him from are the evil's of a normal life in Alagaësia. Believe me when I say that he doesn't know those. Apart from that, I'll see to it that battle will stay as far away as possible from Carvahall."

"Why me, of all people?"

"Who else could I possibly ask?"

Brom chewed on the end of his pipe. "I _am_ Varden, after all."

"You have brains," Murtagh pointed out. _And I'm having a good feeling about this, _he added silently.

Once more Brom retreated into himself for a while. "I must say," he finally opened conversation again, "that you have me curious about this man… boy… Eragon."

"Can I bring him, then?" Murtagh asked a bit too eagerly, and bit his tongue. "I mean, I don't like for me and Thorn to stay too long in this area – it might draw attention."

Brom slightly rocked his head from one side to the other. "I would say yes," he told his excited audience, "but what if those that you don't have control over decide to look for him? What if it's useless for you to keep trouble away from him if trouble is coming here?" He leaned forward and folded his hands. "What I'm talking about is… What about Durza?"

"Oh," Murtagh said, and a wide, proud smile spread on his face. "Durza, you ask? To be honest, I'm not sorry that I can counter your only counter-argument so easily. Eragon killed him."

For the first time that night Brom was quiet not because he was pondering, but because he was speechless.


	14. Sins cannot be undone, only forgiven

**A/N:** Chop – chop – chop: Welcome to the choppy chapter! Lots of little episodes here, while the main plot is kind of resting, taking a deep breath before jumping into the finale.

Trivia: When I was writing the scene where Murtagh appears, I looked up Vangelis' "Conquest of Paradise" (Anybody remember? It hit stores in Germany back in '95) on youtube and listened to it about three times_… _Truly pathetic, I know. It just fit so well with the mist. :)

* * *

**Sins cannot be undone, only forgiven – Igor Stravinsky**

**Chapter 14**

September 13th

* * *

There was the wind, of course, and the grass he was sitting on, and the sun shining down on him. And if he looked closely, he could see little insects on the ground and in the air around him, and every now and then a bird of prey circled overhead.

Apart from that, there was nothing.

After Murtagh had left, Eragon had returned to the plain and found a place where the ground rose a little, and ever since had sat on the downwind south-eastern side of it. Fortunately the tears had dried in no time, but then, he wished that he would not have cried in the first place. He clearly remembered the shocked look his outburst had caused on Murtagh's part.

_But that's not really my fault, either, is it?_ He had been alternately angry and sad for hours, and had felt lonelier than ever. Murtagh was the farthest away he had ever been – physically, but more so emotionally. Eragon felt so empty inside that he thought it was only a matter of time until his body imploded. The brief moment of hope and relief when Murtagh had figured out what had been possessing both of them had been exactly that – a brief moment. Afterwards Eragon had fallen even deeper.

His right forefinger traced a pattern of dark red thread embroidered on the tunic he was wearing. The clothes he had found in Thorn's saddle bags were more formal than those Murtagh wore on his travels, and Eragon would have settled for anything less… flashy black – if that even existed – if there had been any alternative. Actually, he would prefer anything _not_ Murtagh at the moment, but those alternatives were rather rare as well.

When the sun neared the horizon he moved around the little hill not to lose track of her. He lay down on his side and watched how the giant orange ball set everything around it on fire – not only the clouds but the plain as well. His heart was burning in response, and yet it was not passion setting it aflame, as he might have wished only one day ago, but instead it simply hurt, eating at him, increasing the hollowness.

Eventually he drew his knees up to his chin and hugged himself as best as he could. All he wanted at that moment was for someone to hold him, someone to provide security, someone to say that all was well again. Until recently, he would have wished for Murtagh. Now, the thought made him shiver. _He'd probably feel ice-cold lying behind me…_

No, at this point, Eragon wished only for one certain person. The only one who had never disappointed him. Who had always held his back no matter what. Who had loved him unconditionally. Truly made everything alright. Who had been gone from his thoughts for a few weeks, but now was back full force.

_Mom…_

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

He woke up cold and stiff early next morning where he had fallen asleep, immediately concerned about the horses. Not for the first time angry with himself for paying greater heed to his own needs than to theirs, he hurried back through plumes of mist, almost running into a tree a few times once he was in the forest.

Both Cadoc and Tornac looked up and greeted him with low snorts when he reached them, and right after, their noses were buried in herbs again. _Doesn't look like they're mad at me._

"Come on, guys, let's get going!" Eragon called in English, but then hesitated at their sides when he spotted the saddles and bridles lying close to the dead fireplace. _The_ fireplace.

Squaring his shoulders, he stalked over, grabbed what he needed – realizing that it was impossible to carry two saddles at once, no matter how hard he tried – and almost fled back. The second time he had to cover the few yards he could not help but let his eyes wander some, and even though the grass was long standing again, he knew exactly where they had lain… _It could have been so good… or could it really?_ He wished he knew the answer. _He hasn't even said whether he would have been gentle had he known…_

In record time Eragon prepared the horses, threw one last glance around to see whether he had missed anything, went to mount Cadoc – and stopped. _What if…? He did say I could ride Tornac, after all. _Within one second, he had made up his mind, part of his spirit returning. He actually smiled when he realized how worthy of interpretation using Murtagh's horse would be for a psychiatrist.

Carefully he approached the fiery stallion and took a deep breath. "We were getting along very well so far, weren't we?" As fast as possible he mounted and got a tight hold on the reins.

Nothing happened.

Tornac's ears were twitching in all directions, he was not exactly standing still, and on top was also chewing eagerly on his bit, but apart from that, not one of the things that had kept Eragon away from riding him in the last weeks came true. With the slightest pressure of his legs, he got his tiny caravan moving.

He should have known better, though, than to relax as much as he did.

The moment that Tornac caught sight of the plain ahead, he started pulling on his reins, and while Eragon was still busy keeping the head in check, Tornac started bucking and Eragon fell forward on the neck, instinctively throwing his arms around it to stay on top. This, however, freed the proud, grey head, and Eragon was witness to an acceleration that was not matched by anything Cadoc had ever offered.

Within moments they were galloping beneath the rising sun, which was dispersing the last bits of mist and clearing them a wide and endless racetrack. And racing Tornac did, constantly gaining more speed as if to prove his race's worth in a world where the greatest pace was associated with dragons.

After the initial shock ebbed away and Eragon realized that, as a spider monkey, he was relatively safe, he dared to throw a few looks around. Cadoc, with his reins tied to Tornac, did not have a choice about running as well, and while he was bravely trying to keep up, Eragon could see that he was already sweating and breathing heavily. _Shit! _Forgetting about his own fears for a moment, he straightened up and tried to regain some control.

Those attempts, however, Tornac paid as much attention to as Eragon would to a small dog pulling at his pants. And just as Eragon would have freed his leg, Tornac forcefully shook his head, tearing the reins from his rider's hands.

Eragon swayed to one side and quickly buried his hands in the mane to regain balance. Slightly panicking, he remembered what Murtagh had advised him to do after Cadoc had bolted twice upon Thorn's arrival. _Show him that he doesn't do it on his free will, _he heard the warrior in his head. _The second he understands that he _has _to go at that pace, he won't want to do it anymore._

_Fine, then_, Eragon thought, _what else could I do? _Secretly afraid that they were not at the ultimate speed yet, he kicked his heels into the stallion's flanks full force, yelling, "Go, you lame beast! Run!"

To his greatest horror, Tornac leapt forward, unleashing his last reserves. The ground to their feet was flying past, and the wind bit into Eragon's eyes and made them water. He saw that even Tornac had foam in front of his muzzle now, and Cadoc… With a shock Eragon noticed that his horse's mouth was bloody and that his steps were faltering. _Run, my friend, run! _Again he tried to pull at the reins, but Tornac raced on.

Tears were running down Eragon's face now, and it was not only the wind that caused them. Images of what would happen if Cadoc stumbled were flashing through his mind. Would his horse break his legs? Would his neck snap? Would his weight slow Tornac down? Or maybe, maybe his reins would tear in the process? _That would be what I need! If only-_

He almost cheered when the idea hit him. _I can do that! _In one swift motion he unsheathed his knife, leaned over, and cut his horse free.

Immediately Cadoc fell back, and even though Tornac soon lessened his pace as well, he was still competing against the wind. Eragon just prayed that he would find his horse once he managed to turn Tornac around.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Despite his good intentions, Eragon could not help being mad with Murtagh's stallion. The horse, in turn, had given him a friendly shove with its snout as farewell that night, which had not exactly helped his mood. Murtagh had once explained to him how he was _not _in need of a heavy warhorse, but instead had chosen the yet to be named foal for its smart eyes and great speed. _Whatever… I would have loved a nice, heavy, and slow warhorse today!_

His arms were aching worse than after the fight with the Shade, and the fact that he did not have any gloves had turned his hands into two blistering, unusable objects. Very painful objects.

It had taken him about two hours to regain control over Tornac, ride back, and find Cadoc. Or rather, the horses had found each other by neighing. Eragon, with his hands already burning like fire back then, had clumsily tied the remnants of Cadoc's reins to their counterparts and had removed his horse's bit, as the mouth was badly damaged. This, however, meant he would have to ride Tornac for the coming days, and that was why being mad was due both to the recent past _and_ recent future.

_But__ even though it's his horse, I haven't really thought of him all day_, Eragon thought proudly, and quickly gave in to the sleep calling before anything would change that.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

On the third day of his travels across the open land Eragon woke to another brisk, misty morning. In fact, the fog was so thick that he could hardly see further than his arms, and all sounds so muted that he heard literally nothing. When he had gone to sleep, a distant rumbling and rolling had told him that he was not far from the Anora River anymore, and thus also not far from the first line of mountains. Now, however, he knew he had to quell his eagerness to catch sight of them.

He sighed and got up. _Even if these mountains give me a feeling of home, I am _not_ there._

Throughout the previous day, in which Tornac had been surprisingly peaceful, all will to go nuts apparently spent, Eragon had realized that even though he had not thought much about it in the past month, he really wanted to go home as soon as possible. He wanted his life back. He wanted predictability back. And he would rather settle with some less attractive, less amazing than Murtagh if it meant not getting hurt so much.

At least that was the plan.

Eragon quickly started feeling in the mist for the horses' tack, wanting to divert his thoughts. Plans always helped him if he was unsure about something. In Alagaësia, his need for plans had multiplied exponentially.

Once he had found what he was looking for, he was facing the next problem: the horses were quiet, and of course nowhere to be seen. "Cadoc!" he called softly, rattling with the bridles, but nothing. "Oh, blast it!" He did not notice that he was using one of Murtagh's favourite curses.

Like a blind man he began circling around the place he had slept, his arms stretched out in front of him. After about a quarter of an hour he finally found what he was looking for, nearly running into Tornac's behind. However, once all three were set to go – which took quite some time due to Eragon's still hurting hands – the fog was still there, heavy and thick. So he remained standing between his travel companions and settled for another period of waiting, his head leaning against Cadoc's neck.

Perhaps it was because none of the three was moving at all that he felt the earth shudder ever so slightly.

If anyone had asked him, he would have placed the origin of the shudder somewhere to his north, not too close. And as the horses, albeit pricking their ears, stayed calm, he decided not to worry about it. _It's not as if the Shade will jump at me or anything._

Already the sun was breaking through the mist, parting the thick layer into low clouds that were slowly lifting. When Eragon could see further than only a couple of yards he chose to get moving. He tied Cadoc in his newly developed, easy to undo method to Tornac, went around the grey stallion, put one foot in the stirrup, pulled himself up – and nearly fell down backwards. At the same time, the stallion neighed in greeting.

Standing in the receding mist to the north was Murtagh.

He was standing tall, but not as royal as Eragon was used to, was looking strong and yet so tired. His hair was hanging down in strands, something that would have gone by unnoticed if Murtagh would not keep it so unusually, fastidiously clean on 'normal' days. Dark circles beneath his eyes stood out on very pale skin, his lips were set in a tight line, and the eyes… Eragon could not exactly name what he saw. In the end, he settled with interpreting the expression as a mixture of sadness and… calculation.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the strange emotions clouding his thoughts. But still, his gaze was glued to Murtagh just as the other's eyes were locked on him.

When the sun had conquered more ground and Thorn had become visible in the distance, Murtagh started walking towards him, and Eragon found himself utterly confused.

He had no idea what to feel.

Murtagh stopped at a horse's length away from him, looking even more weary from close up. Eragon had hidden his hands behind his back, not wanting to be subject to concern in the inevitable check-up that would follow. So instead, Murtagh's eyes eventually landed on Cadoc's reins, and he swiftly stepped close and examined them. Eragon figured that the chuckle escaping the other had most certainly not been planned.

"Eragon?"

"Well…" Eragon could not help but smile. "I… fixed it, don't you see?"

"I do, I do," Murtagh said, fumbling with the clumsy knots, "but they were cut! Did you…?"

Eragon shrugged. "I was bored… No! No, I wouldn't destroy tack!" He was chuckling as well, loving how it eased some tension away. "Want to hear the tale of a true Rider?" he asked, briefly wondering whether perhaps it was an insult to use the word thusly. _Oh, well, it's just Murtagh. _

And _that_ thought had him wonder some more.

"Certainly!" Murtagh encouraged him, smiling.

Eragon nodded and took a deep breath. "Once there was a boy… no, a man, a big, strong man," he amended with a grin, "who decided that his mount was not enough of a challenge anymore…" In what he hoped to be some fashion of story telling he recounted the event. And even though he obviously did not mean to, Murtagh began laughing at one point, and could not stop anymore, and the rare sound that Eragon had heard only once or twice before was infectious.

In the end, they were both laughing hard, and probably none could have named a real reason if he had to.

When the positive madness had ebbed away, Eragon walked over to Cadoc as well, standing at his head and very close to Murtagh. "Could you look at his muzzle?"

"Sure," Murtagh agreed, throwing a pointed look at Eragon's hands. "And then those."

"No." Eragon quickly moved a step back. "No, they are fine."

The smile disappeared from Murtagh's face when he nodded his agreement. "As you wish." Carefully he began to inspect the chestnut stallion, looking as if that was truly all that was on his mind. After a while, however, he spoke to Eragon, keeping his face hidden behind the horse. "I…" He cleared his throat. "I thought I would not find you. I thought you would ride somewhere else… away."

Eragon looked around Cadoc and straight into pained hazel eyes. "Where should I have ridden at?"

"Ridden _to_- No! I should stop correcting you all the time."

"It's fine," Eragon assured. "I want to learn. I want you to tell me my mistakes… But where, Murtagh?"

Murtagh shrugged. "I don't know. Just… away."

"I have your horse and your gear! I can't just leave!" _Hmm, that probably comes across as…_

"Oh." Murtagh frowned. "Well… that's nice of you."

_... Damn! _Eragon fidgeted around on the spot. "Shall we go?" _This is too awkward!_

"Sure." Murtagh turned around and towards his own horse. "You should ride him without bit for another day or two," he advised.

"… That's possible?"

Murtagh's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Of course." Then his mood darkened. "But I never told you, that's right."

"Murtagh…" Eragon began tentatively once they were riding. "Actually, there is a place I want to go. But I could not have ridden there."

"Where?"

He swallowed. "Home."

A shadow clouded Murtagh's eyes. "I told you – once this war is over, I'll help you."

"I know, I… thank you."

_Give me the laughter back! _Eragon thought a while later, riding quietly a few yards to Murtagh's left. A face set like stone he was used to, an angry face was not uncommon, worry he had a seen, and recently so many smiles. But with the laughter he had tasted, the sadness now was too much. _I want him laughing again… us laughing again._

For hours they rode like this, not one word breaking the silence. The noise created by the river ahead was forever more prominent, and around noon Eragon caught the first glimpse of the water. However, his eyes did not linger there, for even before the mountains had began dominating both the horizon and his thoughts. He knew that his destination, Brom, lived in a village called Carvahall, which was located in a long valley behind those mountains.

Moreover, the skyline did indeed remind him of home.

"_Hurry, sweetie! The trout won't wait __all day!"_

_Eragon thundered down the stairs. "I'm coming!" In no time he gathered his rubber boots, threw on a vest, and grabbed the car keys. "Will you let me drive once we're in the mountains?"_

_Marian laughed. "What about… no? Wait another year!" She grabbed a basket packed with sandwiches and a thermos jug with their mutually beloved rose hip tea, and left the house through the front door._

"_But…" Eragon kicked the door shut, caught up with her, and took the basket from her hands, carrying it towards the car. "But I'm the man in the house!" he argued half jokingly. _

"_Yes, you are," Marian agreed, snatching a hand into his vest to conquer the keys. "You're the best man, in the house or anywhere else." She took the seat behind the wheel. "That's why I'll see to it that we get there – and back again – safely!"_

He swallowed and fought for the memory to go away. Fortunately a quick look to his left distracted him, for Thorn was walking closer than Eragon had been aware of.

Throughout the whole day the dragon had stayed with them, and for once was not flying. What was even more remarkable was that he walked at Eragon's side, not Murtagh's, and did so peacefully without scaring Cadoc. Now, with Eragon's eyes on him, Thorn breathed a series of just the tiniest of flames.

Eragon liked those. And he was well aware that Thorn knew that.

By late afternoon they reached the riverbank, and the Anora, Eragon found out, was truly wide.

"Yes, wide, but harmless this time of the year," Murtagh commented. "And I'm sure taking a bath once we've crossed it…" One strand of his hair received a very grumpy look.

"You like it clean, do you?" Eragon jumped at the possibility for conversation.

"So do you."

Eragon shrugged. "It's normal where I'm from."

Murtagh cocked an eyebrow. "So I wouldn't stand out there?"

"Err… you would, trust me, you would." The thought made Eragon grin. "Maybe not with liking it clean, but with everything else."

"In a good way?"

Immediately a picture sprung up in Eragon's mind, of him running around school with Murtagh at his side, and he could not help but think how… weird that would be. Even embarrassing, perhaps, because Murtagh would be looked upon as a complete wacko in his outfit, would have no chance of proving his worth with the methods he used in Alagaësia, and would seem uneducated and devoid of any manners. Eragon was not sure whether he would be up to the task of settling matters in such circumstances, or if, perhaps, he would simply lock Murtagh away at home.

_But when I __materialized here… _It was the first time that he thought about it at all, and all of a sudden shame coloured his cheeks._ By their standards, I was completely useless._ He began to list reasons in his head, and soon there were way too many._ I could not ride, I could not fight, I did not speak the language, I was _naked_, I ran right into the conflict between Arya and Murtagh, and most of what I consider an education is naught here…_ And after the thoughts that had just crossed his mind, the way Murtagh had reacted made him feel truly horrible. _Instead of complaining or looking down on me, he has taught me all he could these months, fought for me, provided me with food, horse, and clothes, and now organizes my future protection… Shit!_

"In the best possible way," he croaked.

"I like that," Murtagh said, smiling.

_I don't want to leave __you!_

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"I thought crossing rivers would be a big thing without a… thing that swims."

"A what?" Murtagh looked up. "A _raft_ you mean?" He lifted the stick with the dead rabbit and rammed it into the earth close to the fire. "Or a _bowed_?"

"One of those, I guess." Eragon copied Murtagh's actions to roast some bread in a similar fashion. "But the elves told me that the Anora is wild and dangerous!" At all costs he wanted to continue talking.

"Sometimes it is." Murtagh seemed to feel similarly. "In spring, of course, after a big part of the snow has melted. Or after big storms when it has rained a lot." He threw Eragon a questioning glance. "If we had not come here after such a dry summer, we probably would have needed Thorn…" His eyes suddenly lit up, but then he averted his gaze. Eragon thought he saw a smile play around the other's lips.

"How far is it to Carvahall?" They had yet to speak about Murtagh's meeting with Brom, but as they were still moving west, Eragon figured all had gone well. Details he did not really want to know.

"Only about four days I'd say. Which is good, for I should soon show my face in Uru'baen after all this time."

_Four days and you're gone? _Despite the recent events, Eragon's heart grew heavy.

The meal of crispy rabbit was spent talking about banalities, with even the weather being a topic for a prolonged period of time. But at one point it seemed as if everything meaningless had been said, and in silent agreement they settled down next to the dying fireplace, about a yard away from each other, each rolling up in his cloak.

Eragon stared up at the cloudless sky above him, watching the stars as he had done so many times before. Sleep was avoiding him, so instead he thought back to his very first night after the storm, remembering all his fears and worries. While those had changed and the man whom he had considered a threat to his life was now his greatest ally, life had not become easier. If anything, it was even more complicated now.

_If I was to return home right now, from one moment to the next… I don't think I could ever be completely happy again. __Not… without him. _The metaphor of the forbidden fruit flashed through his thoughts, but while the rational part of his mind told him that he needed to get over Murtagh one day, every other thread of his being knew that he would never forget the intensity of his feelings. The warmth that the hazel eyes could spread. The low voice constantly sending shivers down his spine. _Once tasted…_

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"I am sorry."

Eragon jerked from what must have been a very light sleep, and for a moment he was too confused to speak.

"I just… couldn't handle it," Murtagh continued to whisper.

Now Eragon was too stunned to speak. _Just what is he talking about?_

"I can handle tears," Murtagh explained, "but when I'm the reason, and the circumstances are like these, and a person like you… no."

_Ah_. "I know."

"You do?"

"I kind of figured it out once I wasn't…well…"

"Mad anymore?"

"Sad anymore."

Murtagh was quiet for a bit. "Aren't you mad?"

"I was. Now I'm only… scared, I guess. You won't do that again, will you? Running away?"

"I won't."

"Do you promise?"

"… I promise. But you must promise me never to be afraid again to tell me something."

"I promise."

Silence took hold of their camp, with only the river singing its endless song. Eventually Eragon's racing heart calmed down, and with a long sigh he closed his eyes. The unexpected apology felt _so good_. With his heart considerably lighter than earlier that night, he allowed sleep to claim him once more.

"Eragon?"

Again he was startled out of his rest. "Hmm?"

Murtagh hesitated. "Are you still sad?" And if Eragon was not already, the misery he heard in the whispered words would have made him.

"A little," he answered truthfully. "But I'm not thinking much about it, because that hurts." Suddenly he felt a hand on his and flinched. "Ooff! You scared me!"

Murtagh remained quiet and instead intertwined their fingers, their now connected arms breaching the empty yard between them, breaching numerous emotional yards as well. "… I meant it, you know?"

_Is he talking about…? _Eragon's breathing hitched. "I care for you, too," he said straight from the heart.

Murtagh squeezed his hand in response.

"I… I am smiling," Eragon informed the other, while in reality he thought his lips would tear, seeing as they were spanned from one ear to the other. _Things aren't settled, but things are better._

"So am I."

Not letting go for one instant they fell asleep.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"I thought we could stop here for a day."

Not simply making this a fact was a lot for Murtagh, but with regret Eragon noted how the very emotional tone of last night had gone. He looked up from fastening his boots. "Why?"

Murtagh's mouth twitched into a crooked smile. "If there are no dragons in your world, you've never ridden one, am I right?"

_Fly on Thorn? _"Are you saying…?"

"You should not miss out. Come over!"

_Whoa! _It was not something Eragon needed to be told twice. He hastened over to Rider and lying dragon and patted Thorn's neck. "Is… is he fine with that?"

Groaning, Murtagh hoisted up the saddle and fastened it to the scaly body, having to climb around in the process. "You should know that he doesn't like to be talked about like that."

Eragon bit his lip. "Right. I'm sorry… Thorn." He turned around and caught one red eye. "Would it be fine with you if… if we add some weight to your Rider? Weight that looks like me?" _Don't say no, don't say no, don't say- How does a dragon say yes or no?_

Thorn granted him with a breath of smoke and rose to his feet, taking Murtagh with him. "That means yes!" Murtagh called down. "And he doesn't want to wait. Come up!"

"How?" Eragon threw a sceptical glance at the muscular mass in front of him. He could not remember watching Murtagh mount Thorn in the past.

"Use his leg as steps, you can grab the scales for a hold," Murtagh instructed.

Eragon involuntarily laughed. "What? What leg?"

"I'll show you." Murtagh slid down and came to stand next to him, and now Thorn was holding out a front leg. "Jump on the foot," – Murtagh did just that – "then climb up the leg," – he simply ran to the top – "and once you're here, grab the saddle and pull yourself up." Instead of demonstrating that as well, he jumped down again. "Here, take my gloves and go ahead!"

Very carefully and slowly Eragon imitated what he had seen, his hands shaking in excitement. _A dragon! No one would believe me! _He nearly slipped once, but instead of feeling thin air around him, Thorn's leg moved beneath him, catching his fall. Quickly Eragon held on to a scale and hurried to reach the top.

Sweating rather heavily, he finally hoisted himself up in the saddle, took a deep breath, and looked down. Apart from it being a rather impressive height for a mount, he now also had full view on a chuckling Murtagh, and on a dragon's head turned back to him, from which emerged a series of chuckle-like noises as well. "No one said I had to do this elegantly!" he pointed out, grinning himself. _I guess I looked rather stupid._

In only one tenth of the time that Eragon had needed Murtagh mounted Thorn as well and seated himself close behind Eragon. "And now we tie ourselves to the saddle," he instructed, reaching down to one side and fastening the strips around his and Eragon's leg.

_What a bastard! _Eragon thought, but with amusement and admiration. _Of course he knew how close we would have to sit… _He had stilled when Murtagh had suddenly pressed himself to his back, but now he only smiled and fumbled with the strips around their other legs. "Are you sure you only want to show me what it's like to fly?"

"Of course!" Murtagh said with one corner of his mouth raised ever so slightly. "Where do you want to go?"

"To the mountains?"

"To the mountains it is."

In that moment, Thorn spread his enormous wings, crouched down, and then hurled himself up high in the air. In the first few seconds, his wing beats were short and irregular, sending Eragon's stomach some place it did not want to be, but very soon the movements became smoother and they rose continuously.

The side effect of the breathtaking steep climb was that Eragon had basically moulded into Murtagh, but all it did was enhance the warmth that was already spreading through his veins. After a moment, he even reached for Murtagh's arms behind him and laid them around his waist, sending the other a brief smile over his shoulder.

Then he threw the first glance down and forgot about Murtagh.

In no time Thorn had risen to a considerable height, and the horses below them had already shrunk to the size of ants. Then the dragon held the altitude and turned west, and the ground rushed past at an incredible speed. The wind bit at Eragon's face, and as during the ride on Tornac, his eyes were watering.

And yet, the blurry sight unfolding and the incredible feeling in his stomach were unlike anything Eragon had ever experienced before. Unbelievably fast the mountains were drawing near, and slowly Thorn climbed higher and higher. Soon they were level with the timber line.

"Chamois!" Murtagh called, pointing to some small brownish dots on the rocky surface. "Cloud," he called a moment after, and suddenly they were surrounded by cold, wet mist. However, it was worth it when a moment later Thorn emerged from the cloud, and the mountain tops in front of them gleamed in the bright sun in all their snowy might.

Eragon squeezed one of the hands holding him. "Amazing! This is unbelievable!" The thin air made him light-headed, even a little drunk. "I love it!"

"Are you sure?" Murtagh asked, his mouth so close to Eragon's ear that the warm breath tickled him. "Then let us show you what _real_ flying consists of."

That said, Thorn stopped all movement altogether, and for a moment simply fell through the air. Then he tipped his head down, giving his body the least aerodynamic drag possible and causing them to fall even faster. Last, with a deafening roar, he began spiralling downwards.

Eragon shouted and screamed until he was nearly unconscious. He truly loved it.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

_Cheeseburger_

_Concerts_

_Sneakers_

_Mom_

_Showers_

_Friends_

_Mom_

_Basebal__l_

_Mo__m_

Eragon's heart was aching and burning in his chest. He broke the wooden stick he had used and threw it away into the river. Continuing to stare at the list he had made in the sand, he remembered the times he had done this as a child at the beach – with his mother nearby, always ready to cheer at him practicing writing. Yet the things he had wished for back then had been things such as _Drive a tractor, Fly to the moon, Own a dog_.

_Oh__, mom. I love you. I miss you._

He had risen very early and stolen away from their camp to go down to the river. His night had not been peaceful, even though all the dreams he could remember had been full of his mother. In the last one, right before he had woken, he had been back at his first day in school, and Marian had stood at the fence in the morning, waving after him.

Somehow, the goodbye-feeling of that dream stuck with him. And that he could not accept.

Slowly getting up, he stretched his aching muscles and started erasing the scrabble in the sand. He had lost all appetite for a cheeseburger, belying the original reason behind writing this list. Even with such a clever tactic of distraction, the thoughts of _her_ would not leave him alone.

"Don't erase that!" Murtagh made him jump in surprise.

"You scared me!" _And you successfully stopped any tear from flowing_, Eragon added silently.

"Didn't mean to. May I?"

Eragon looked over his shoulders and saw that Murtagh wanted to step closer. "Sure."

Murtagh smiled and hugged Eragon from behind, resting his chin on the other's shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered, and then asked, "That is your language in signs, right?"

Eragon leaned back with a sigh, closing his eyes. "Yes… care to learn the Latin alphabet?" _Murtagh_. The wild ride on Thorn had – in some respects –brought them back together, and when afterwards not only Eragon but Murtagh as well had been somewhat green around his nose, Eragon had felt a new sort of connection springing up between them. Murtagh did not admit many weaknesses, and those Eragon had witnessed so far had all been painful. After the flight, however, the Rider had made no secret of his stomach being rather unworthy of his profession, thereby demonstrating the trust he had in the other.

"The what? Well," Murtagh paused for a moment, "sure, I guess. If it means something to you."

"Not really…" Eragon tilted his head and kissed Murtagh on the cheek, smiling. Had he only known how sensitive Murtagh could be if he wanted to… _I should have told him that I was a virgin!_

Murtagh was watching him closely, a spark glimmering in his eyes after this first, open sign of affection after the whole drama. Then he frowned. "What did you write there? What made you depressed?"

"Nothing." Eragon tried to shrug it off. "Just some memories."

"Your mother?"

_How does__ he know that?_ Eragon nodded, quickly turning his face away to hide any emotions.

"Eragon, please, don't exclude me. You never speak about her, but I know that you miss her. Dearly." Murtagh lightly grabbed Eragon's chin and turned the younger one's head to look him in the eye. "Don't be ashamed. You were torn out of your life with no prior notice, I don't expect you to simply shrug and continue."

_I love you_, Eragon thought, and shocked himself into a prolonged silence. "…You never talk about your mother, either," he eventually pointed out. "All I know are things about Morzan. Where is she?"

Murtagh ended the hug and sat down, squinting up against the light. "She's dead."

Eragon blushed."Oh, Murtagh, I'm sorry!"

"… And has been for nearly sixteen years. I've learned to live with it." Murtagh had chosen his spot well, for squinting overruled any other expression.

Eragon swiftly moved around the other and sat down as well. "Do you miss her?"

Murtagh looked at his hands for a while. "I used to. Every day I missed her." He cleared his throat. "But when I grew older that made me weak, and I quit… But yes, I still miss her," he added quietly.

"What was her name?"

"Selena."

"How beautiful! What… what happened?"

Murtagh folded his hands as he usually did when telling a story. This time, however, his thumbs fidgeted around. "As far as I know, it was only a common illness that did it in the end. Had she been strong and content, though, she would have lived – I'm certain of it!" He looked up, grunting. "The marriage of my parents wasn't a loving one, see? Perhaps in the beginning, but later… no. I don't remember much of her, but I remember seeing her cry. Hearing her cry. And now I know _he_ was the reason for it." He spat to the ground. "…What about _your_ father?"

Eragon snorted. "I don't know."

"They do have fathers where you're from, right?"

"And they do have men here, too, who leave a woman with child, right?" Eragon asked back. "I don't know much. My mother didn't like to talk about him, and he never contacted me or anything. They say he was handsome, but apparently his true character was not."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Someone with your story doesn't have to be. I had a very happy childhood. I had the best mother of them all."

"Well…" Murtagh scratched his head. "And if there wasn't a man around, there was no chance for your parents – your mother – to run off with someone else, was there?"

Eragon cocked his head. "Yours did?"

"Aye." Murtagh grimaced. "With my father's then already worst enemy."

_What? Please, no! _"Brom?" Eragon nearly shouted. "No! Murtagh! How is this supposed to work out? I mean, I thought you and Brom… that it was only a thing of different sides of the war… well, not only _only_, but… and now you tell me there are family things involved too?" He clenched his hands into his hair and pulled at it. "How can he…? He agreed to… to taking me, right? But… how can you…?" _This can't work out!_

Murtagh was watching him with raised eyebrows, chuckling. "You're funny. Apparently you don't even know the other half… And yes, Brom and I have an agreement, and you do _not_ have to fret. This history isn't yours, and he's smart enough to act accordingly."

Eragon narrowed his eyes. "What other half?"

"Are you sure you want to-"

"Murtagh!"

The warrior raised both hands in surrender. "Fine, I'll tell you. So… as you know, my father is dead, too, but that's nothing to feel sorry for. He helped to corrupt and kill the Riders, and deserved no less than death. The one who brought it about, though… we just talked about him."

_No! __Shit!_ Eragon balled his hands into fists. "If this is only a joke…"

"Why would I do that?"

"Aarrgh!" Eragon was on his feet, running from Murtagh to the river and back. "You don't understand what that means!"

"I'm afraid I don't." Murtagh looked truly perplexed.

"How am I to get along with that Brom when there are all these things?"

"As I just explained, it has nothing to do with you and-"

"No!" Eragon stomped his foot. "Apart from all else, this is just too much!"

Murtagh stood up as well and stepped close. "What else?"

"Look at me! What do you see?"

Confused, Murtagh studied him from head to toe. "Handsome sixteen-year-old, perhaps a little agitated at the moment, but usually-"

"I'm… I'm nothing! I'm not good at anything! This Brom will think that I'm a waste of time in any case, and now you tell me all these things, and I'm connected to you and… and…" A desperate tear rolled down Eragon's cheek. "Don't you understand?"

Murtagh shook his head. "All I understand is that I _don't_ understand anything. Brom won't judge you, Eragon, he'll only give you a home for some time. Apart from that, though, if he _did_ judge you… I'm convinced he would hold you in high regards."

"Certainly not!"

"You're truly blind, little one! Come here." Murtagh motioned for the other to sit down again, and Eragon did so, quietly accepting – and enjoying – the arm Murtagh laid around him. "Even if there wasn't this prophecy to consider, you would be quite exceptional."

"You only say that…"_ But I do appreciate the effort._

Murtagh sighed. "Stupid Eragon. Where shall I start? You learned the language _very_ quickly-"

"I'm good with languages!"

"No, listen, please. You learned the language, you have an incredible talent at getting along with people, be they elves or humans, good or bad, even if they're extremes like Arya or I are, you learned to ride, to fight, and to top it all of you're a Shadeslayer. Just why would you say you're nothing?"

Eragon shrugged his shoulders.

"Do _I_ make you feel that way?"

"No… I don't know."

"Then be quiet already! I don't want to hear another thing!" In contrast to his sharp words, the kiss Murtagh pressed to Eragon's forehead was as tender as it could possibly be. "Stupid Eragon," he repeated in a whisper, and then his mouth wandered down to find its counterpart.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Eragon chewed on the roasted mushrooms without much appetite. "The day after tomorrow?" _So little time left._

"Yes." Murtagh freed his feet from his boots, stretched his legs, and wiggled his toes. "Brom will have a nice bed for you, I'm sure. No more sleeping rough in the woods. The nights are becoming cold these days."

_It wouldn't be cold if… _Eragon's heart beat accelerated. _It's now or never once more, but this time he knows everything._ "I don't mind sleeping rough in the woods – with you." He sent Murtagh a shy smile. They had spent the last two nights huddled close together again, and of all the things Eragon had felt, cold had not been one of them.

Murtagh smiled and shook his head. "Don't say that. It sounds…" His smile became apologetic.

Eragon took a deep breath. "What if I want it to sound like that? What if I… if I want to sleep with you – in the woods?"

"Eragon…" Murtagh's breaths came a little irregularly. "I'm not sure whether-"

Eragon leaned forward and killed all further words with a searing kiss. When he broke apart, he saw that he had killed most doubts as well. "You said that… even with differences you can make it right. You meant that, didn't you?"

"I did," Murtagh assured him, the well-known twinkle now in his eyes. "But this is not about differences. This is about me having destroyed so much. I don't know whether-"

"Murtagh! Let's make this our real first time."

Murtagh scrutinized him for long moments. "If you truly wish that… But don't look like that, Eragon, don't be scared! I'll be gentle." He reached out and took Eragon's hands in his own. "If you want to do it, then I can do it right. I won't hurt you again!"

Even though he_ was _afraid, the fact that Murtagh seemed to understand just that warmed Eragon's heart – and told him his decision was the right one. "Please, tell me what to do."

"Shh." Murtagh pulled him to his chest, kissing along his jawbone and tousling his hair. "You don't have to do anything but enjoy." He caught Eragon's eyes, his own blazing. "I'll make this good, you won't regret it. This _is _our real first time." He tugged at Eragon's shirt to free it from the trousers and dove beneath with one hand, stroking the stomach and then the chest. "Do you like that?" he whispered, smiling.

"Of course," Eragon whispered back between two kisses. _If I had only told him back then…_

"Good!" Murtagh pulled the shirt further up and over Eragon's head. Slowly his mouth wandered downwards, placing kisses all along the way. Just when the nipples had hardened and the first moan had been drawn he moved on, quickly and determinedly, while his hands already fumbled with Eragon's belt.

_Oh God! _was the last thing Eragon thought before the warm, wet lips and tongue attended to his swollen flesh.

Later the night he would scream that thought.


	15. Smiles form the channels of future tears

**A/N:** Some night last week I was in bed trying to sleep and thinking about God knows what but certainly not Eragon, when suddenly I realized that I had made a mistake in chapter one. I have _no_ idea why that popped up in my mind, which actually scares me. So anyhow, 8 months after writing and 4 months after editing the chapter I realized that – of course – there's only one egg left in Uru'baen now, what with Thorn having hatched already and the blue egg stolen. In chapter one, however, I am talking about two eggs_…_ Fortunately, no one a) noticed or b) was bothered enough to tell me in a review. Still, this fic is messing with my mind on more than one level. :)

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

_Finna draumr_: Again it is Shaeldryn vs. the Ancient Language. Literally this means "find dream", and as CP makes the language work just as English, I felt free to use the infinitive as imperative as well.

* * *

**Smiles form the channels of future tears – Lord Byron**

**Chapter 15**

22nd Harvest Moon

* * *

_Only o__ne more time_. Murtagh closed his eyes, rocked his hips – and greeted twilight with a long groan. Sweat was running down his forehead, some of it gathering at the tip of his nose until a drop made its way down. His eyes snapped open in time to see it land on the beautiful, toned back beneath him. Quickly he leaned down and licked it away, which caused the back to shiver, and in turn aroused him even more. _Just… just one tiny little more time. _Slowly he withdrew from the tight heat encircling him, and just as slowly he pushed back in, deeper and deeper till he was buried to the hilt.

Again he leaned down, this time placing wet, tongue-intensive kisses along the sensitive spine, having found out the night before what this did to Eragon. And true enough, his young lover moaned as if there was no tomorrow, still far too overwhelmed by the new sensations to pay attention to the noise level he created.

Murtagh felt his arms beginning to give way, so he lowered himself onto the other, using the chance to move yet again within him. He could not get enough of it.

"You… wait… why?" Eragon asked, his head turned slightly to the side to look at Murtagh. Blue eyes were clouded with lust, and the hair along his hairline was drenched in sweat. "You heavy. But… do more."

Murtagh chuckled. Another thing he had learned right away was that Eragon's vocabulary shrunk to a minimum during the act. "I want to attend to you…" he informed him, but first there was another little shove, and then a mutual moan, and both shuddered. "…that's why I'll move us." That said, he pushed himself up until he was on his knees, the cold air like ice on his slick, hard flesh. Quickly he grabbed Eragon by the waist and pulled him up to all fours and onto himself again. For a moment they stilled, enjoying the renewed contact, then little by little Murtagh established a moderate rhythm, every thrust making the body in his hands tremble.

Soon Eragon's gasping turned into constant whimpering, and when one of Murtagh's hands left the waist and wandered to the centre, caressing whatever crossed his way, whimpering turned noisier and became uncontrolled moaning. This forced Murtagh to call upon all his willpower to keep the pace and _not_ claim the other as he usually would have, so instead he swayed his hips some, concentrating on the many levels of friction this created. A tingling sensation trickled down his spine, faster and faster, and he arched his back as if to lean in to it. All of a sudden a volcano built within him, and it erupted so quick that he was already over the edge when he realized what was going on. _In the name of the Shurt'ugal!_

He needed a moment to get his senses back together and return to the unfinished task still waiting. A brief kiss was placed to Eragon's back and then Murtagh renewed pleasuring with his hand, the rhythm being considerably harder and faster than the one of their mating. All the while he remained within the other, loving how the contracting muscles teased his over-sensitive cock.

Eragon craned his neck, briefly caught Murtagh's eye, and soundlessly formed the word 'more' with his mouth. Once this was granted, it took only instants until he tossed his head back and yelled something Murtagh did not understand, and spent himself over the pumping hand.

Wheezing and panting they came to rest on the ground, leaving some space between them to cool down, only the fingertips of one hand each touching. The air smelled of sex and sweat and masculinity, and Murtagh loved it. He smiled at Eragon, who was lying on his stomach and stupidly smiled back, his mind obviously still somewhere else. "Good morning!"

"Hmm?"

Murtagh reached out to tousle through the blond hair. "It _is_ already light."

Eragon grumbled. "I don't want that." He took one corner of the cloak and pulled it over his head.

"I know. But there's no choice."

"… I know," Eragon mumbled, and then his head became visible again. "How long?"

Murtagh laughed and shook his head at the same time. He got up and lazily put on one item of clothing after the next. "Stop asking that. We're not on the way to your execution."

"But it's… it's like an exile!" Eragon made no move and thus remained naked, presenting a wonderful sight in the growing light.

"Exile? It's a village with more than a hundred inhabitants!"

Eragon grimaced. "Exactly."

Murtagh tsked. "I'm not stupid. You've been on your own a lot lately, and there have been weeks with only one other person about. If I know one thing it's that you're _not_ bothered by the size of Carvahall, but rather by a certain inhabitant."

"Who could you possibly mean?"

"Oh, leave it!" Murtagh grabbed the clothes he had lent Eragon and aimed successfully for the other's head. "Get up!"

After a minute of silent defiance Eragon moved to do as ordered. Carefully he made his way to the creek they had camped at, taking his time to wash and even play around some with the water. When, on returning, he found out that Murtagh's eyes were on him, he blushed rather heavily and immediately covered his privates with his hand. "This isn't a _peep_ _show_!"

"A what?" _Something is odd…_ Murtagh cocked his head to the side and studied the other more intently, this time from a healer's point of view. "The way you walk…"

Eragon stopped dead, his eyes wide as though he had been caught doing something forbidden.

_Damn!_ Murtagh swallowed. "Did I hurt you?"

Eragon shook his head and bit his lip. "No. I'm just… I don't know… a bit…"

"Sore?"

"That's the word." Eragon had reached his clothes and swiftly dressed.

"But... but it was only…" _… three times in a little more than a day and he's not used to it. _Murtagh grimaced. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Eragon smiled, embarrassment retreating. "I didn't want you to stop. Any anyhow…" He thought for a moment and his smile became sly. He walked over to Murtagh, threw him a rather seductive look, and moved his hands to unfasten his recently fastened belt. "In fact, I would not mind being a little more sore." He came to a halt directly in front of Murtagh and stretched his neck to be able to whisper into the other's ear. "We could spend a whole day here, and do it several times over. I'm sure you are able to do that, and-"

"No!" Murtagh caught the hand on its way to touch him before it found out just how alluring the idea was to him. "You only want to postpone your meeting with Brom." He laughed at seeing Eragon's expression turn from sexy and sweet to that of a child who has been denied its favourite candy. "We really should be on our way already, so hurry up!"

"I don't like you," Eragon grumbled, stalking over to his boots.

"Liar!"

Rather unwillingly, Eragon joined in the laughter.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

_It's enough._

_It's not like you couldn't shove him away__,_ Murtagh pointed out, his eyes flickering back and forth between Eragon hugging his dragon and the summit of what was the last hill before Carvahall.

_That would be rude._

_Set him on fire?_

Thorn threw a calculating look at Eragon. _Hmm…_

_Don't you dare! _Worried as he was about anybody spotting them, Murtagh helped out to speed things up. "Stop wasting time! You'll see him again."

"When?" Eragon asked into Thorn's neck, clearly meaning not only his next meeting with the dragon.

_Leave already! _Only once Thorn had disappeared between the mountains of the Spine did Murtagh relax. He walked over to Eragon to pass on Cadoc's reins. "A wild guess would be... two months, perhaps. Is that… how do you say… _okay_?"

Eragon briefly smiled before making a grumpy face. "No, it's not." But he mounted nonetheless, urging Cadoc close to Murtagh and stealing a kiss. "I'm being a child, I know."

"An infant," Murtagh confirmed. _Which makes me a pervert…_ His laughter earned him a perplexed Eragon.

Soon they reached the top of the hill and looked down on the village ahead. A patch of forest still separated them from their target, but already the individual houses of Carvahall were distinguishable, and the little dots moving between them as well as the smoking chimneys promised a busy community. The sun was almost at its zenith and shone with all its might, warming the early autumn's air and allowing the first yellow leaves to shine in return. _If this isn't inviting, I can't imagine what would be, _Murtagh thought, not for the first congratulating him on his choice of bringing Eragon here.

It did not take long, however, for Eragon to find another reason to delay. Once they were down the hill and in the woods, he abruptly stopped his horse and jumped down. "He made a misstep!"

"Did he?" _He can't be serious! _Murtagh turned in the saddle. "Are you sure?"

Eragon had the nerve to grin. "No, but I don't want to risk anything." Leading Cadoc away from the path and fastening him to a tree, his expression turned triumphant. "This is where we'll rest. I'm afraid you won't get rid of me that fast."

Murtagh grinned as well, but made sure to make it look as mischievous as possible. "_If_ he made a misstep, then we'll have to walk on foot, not rest."

With another grumpy look Eragon unfastened Cadoc and joined Murtagh in walking, although staying a horse's length back. "How long?"

"An hour." Murtagh removed a glove and ripped off several blackberries growing along the path. "Want some?"

Immediately Eragon caught up with him and took one. "Good," he assessed a moment later, part of the berry's juice colouring his lips dark red.

_You don't think leaving is easy for me, do you?_ Murtagh sighed. What Eragon had told him about the principle of _holidays _seemed so alluring all of a sudden. _Speaking of his world… _"So these… err… _cars_ you told me about, they don't need any food?" This, he was sure, was the perfect topic to distract, and besides, he was truly curious to learn more.

By the look Eragon gave him, he understood the intention behind the topic. He smiled nonetheless. "No, no they don't eat. But there's something you need to feed them with, some liquid."

"And there's lots and lots of cars you said_…_"

"Hundreds of thousands. Many families not only have one, but two or three."

_Two or three running at dragon's speed for every family? _Murtagh whistled. "What about colours?"

"All colours. You could have one red like Thorn, if you like."

Murtagh stopped. "If I was in your world, I could have a car? Did you have one? What colour was it?"

It was Eragon who motioned for them to walk on. "Yes, you could have one, for the same reason that I didn't: you're old enough." He laughed. "If I had known you'd be so interested, I would have thought of bringing _photos_ to the park with me."

"Bring what?"

Shaking his head, Eragon started into a description of something that – if not quite as impressive as a car – definitely had advantages that Murtagh could see right away. So only with regret he put an end to the explanatory tirade when he noticed how close they had come to Carvahall.

"… you should see those my mother made when I was but five, we were-"

Murtagh leaned forward and stopped Eragon with a kiss, which was the least hurtful way he could think of to end the memories. "We're almost there," he whispered.

"Oh." But Eragon did not protest. "You said you'll meet me there…"

"Of course."

"But… won't they see you?"

Murtagh chuckled. "I'll manage. I need you to take my horse, though, and my weapons, because they would hinder me."

"Sure." Eragon held out his hands to take the swords and then fastened them to Cadoc's saddle. "They look a bit… _Murtaghish_, don't you think?"

"Did you just invent a word?"

Eragon only grinned.

"You're right. And Tornac also looks _Murtaghish._" Murtagh found himself grinning as well. "We'll have to change that." He looked around until his gaze fell on a puddle of water. "I think I have an idea…"

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Despite what he had told Eragon, Murtagh was not sure he would get into Carvahall unnoticed at daytime. But as going in _noticed_ was not an option, failing meant not going in at all. Which was not an option either.

He had left Eragon with the instruction to wait at least half an hour before following him, then had jogged through the forest until he had emerged behind a small henhouse with its back bordering at the trees. The first houses were doable, he was sure, but after that… _Why does Brom have to live right in the middle of all places?_

Carefully peeping around the corner of the shack, he studied the house it belonged to as well as the neighbouring buildings and what little he could see of the street behind those. All shutters in sight were open, but he could not discern any movement in the half-dark rooms, and once an old lady had passed by on the street, he left his place and hurried to a stack of firewood next to the closest house.

The silence following his footsteps convinced him to move further right away, and after a quick look to the right and left he crossed the street, finding cover behind two big barrels. His sense of smell told him that those barrels had once contained wine, so he examined the building he was crouching next to, realizing that he was at the back of the local tavern. Slowly he moved around the corner, ready to drop to the ground any moment should he notice anyone approaching. Fortunately, the chance was relatively low; around noon, people were working and not strolling through the village leisurely.

Once he was close to the front of the tavern, however, any progress was halted, for there was a group of men standing on the street that Murtagh could not simply pass by. _If anyone knew I was hiding from unarmed men… _He certainly did not like acting like a common thief, but then, Eragon had already caused him to do more than one unusual thing.

Being forced to remain where he was for the moment, he studied the men more closely, soon noticing that they all carried a bag and wore cloaks too warm for the weather. Adding the fact that they were not working this time of the day had him decide that they were probably in the midst of or beginning a journey. The mood among them was cheerful, even though they threw one or two worried glances in the direction of the tavern.

Suddenly something behind Murtagh clanked, and around the corner from the back of the tavern came a dog. The second it spotted the person hiding it stopped, the hair on its neck standing on end. A person called, making the dog's ears twitch, and then Murtagh heard heavy steps coming the way the dog had come. _Damn!_

That moment, a man left the tavern, greeted effusively by those waiting. "Nobody here wants to lead us through the Spine," he called. "We'll have to go to Therinsford to find a guide." Joining the group, he led them away down the main street.

Whoever was coming Murtagh's way was almost there, and a deep rumbling had started in the dog's throat. Changing tactics, Murtagh pulled his hood deep in his face and jumped up and on the street, following the group in a little distance.

He felt strangely naked out in the open without his swords, and the skin on his arms began tingling. Moreover, he was certain that he would draw looks, because even though most people were dressed in dark clothes, be they of dark brown, dark blue, or black, nobody was dressed solely in black as he was – and his reputation was well known in Alagaësia.

Sure enough, a villager leaving his house threw a sceptical glance in his direction, and Murtagh hurried to catch up with the travellers. Searching a guide for the Spine had marked them as foreigners, and he hoped they would not mind someone they must consider a villager to walk with them as closely as he did. One had already looked over his shoulder and now nudged the man walking at his side.

Murtagh's magic woke up from one moment to the next, although he would first fight with his knife, if necessary. He figured he should not leave a magical trace for any searching eyes, and as for him a knife would be enough to deal with the group in front, he could simply- _No! If I fight, I have to leave, and that means not seeing Eragon again _and_ giving him a hard start with Brom. _

Just when the man who had spotted him stopped and turned around, Murtagh moved away from the main street and into a narrower road. He nearly ran into a little girl, who, from her height – or lack thereof – probably saw more of his face than he wanted, but as that was nothing he could change while leaving her unharmed, he simply hastened on.

The road was running parallel to the street that Brom lived in. After a minute of following it, Murtagh reached a crossroads and then his target without further incident. Not thinking twice, he pushed open Brom's front door and quickly closed it behind him, taking a deep breath. _To think that I have reached safety in _his_ house… _He chuckled.

"Murtagh. What a… pleasure."

Murtagh's eyes darted to the staircase. On its top Brom had emerged from what probably was his bedroom. "Brom."

"Where's the boy?" Slowly the former Rider descended down the stairs, scrutinizing Murtagh.

"Should be arriving soon – and with him my swords."

Brom nodded. "Then I shall be surprised and happy to see my… nephew… after so many years. Will he bring the horses?"

Uninvited, Murtagh sat down in the armchair at the dead fireplace. "He will. In about a month, I guess, one of my men will come and get Tornac."

Brom leaned against the sill of a window facing south, despite his age providing an impressive silhouette against the light. "You named your horse after the man?"

Murtagh ignored the question. "I take it you will have to rent a stable for the two?"

Brom grunted in response.

"I will pay for that." Murtagh reached into the little bag at his belt, feeling for several coins that were wrapped in cloth to prevent any sounds. He put a total of five on the side table in front of him, placing them exactly in the line of a single ray of sunlight.

"I don't need your gold! I agreed to take him because I'm curious – and the prophecy is interesting, to say the least. I don't need you to make me feel any worse about helping you!"

Now it was Murtagh's turn to grunt. "This is not just for the stable. Eragon needs clothes, too, the fight with the Shade destroyed his."

"What's he wearing now?"

"A second set of my clothes."

"You carry a second set of clothes around with you?" Brom shook his head. "I've never heard of a warrior wasting space by-"

"Thorn carried them."

"Ah." Brom's eyes briefly lit up. "They say he's striking… although I cannot approve of that, of course."

One corner of Murtagh's mouth curled up. "Officially?"

"…Officially," Brom conceded.

"You miss your dragon."

Brom shook his head again, but it was not so much a negation but an indicator for a change of topic. "So this Eragon is coming here, leading a rather well-known dark grey horse along, wearing rather well-known black clothes…"

"You're a storyteller these days, are you not?" Murtagh asked with a hint of sarcasm. "I'm sure you'll find a tale for the villagers." Then he thought better of it. "I will not place Eragon in unnecessary risks nor make his life any harder than it already is. The clothes are associated with me, not with a smiling, friendly young blond. My horse… well, he isn't exactly his usual colour at the moment, and his noble blood is hidden as well."

Brom raised a bushy eyebrow.

"We rubbed at least a gallon of mud on his coat," Murtagh explained.

They fell quiet for a while, which made the distant sounds of the village audible through the windows. Murtagh used the time to take a good look around, something he had not done during his previous visit due to both the miserable lightning back then and the rather tense situation at hand.

Brom's house was a small one, with only one big room on ground level and, by the look of it, only his even smaller bedroom at the end of the stairs. Outside, the place beneath the bedroom and next to the main room was occupied by the tiniest of stables, in which, by the smell of it, Brom housed both chicken as well as at least one goat. But even though everything about the place was small, it was likely to be very different from other houses its size in Carvahall, with a certain wealth showing in small details.

The table and the chairs were delicately adorned with carvings, and the armchair Murtagh was sitting in was well padded and comfortable. Above the fireplace, a large map of Alagaësia was pinned to the wall, drawn upon a skin that once must have belonged to a white stag. There were dozens of books – _books!_ – in the room, some in a shelf, some located on about everything that you could possibly lay a book on.

"Aren't you afraid of anyone stealing those?" he asked Brom, gesturing in the direction of the costly volumes.

"This is a place of hard-working, earnest people," Brom replied. "I would not have chosen Carvahall if I did not trust the villagers."

Murtagh raised his hands in surrender. He had well understood the underlying comparison to the world he was from. And yet, it only made him realize again the quality of his choice regarding Eragon's future. Once more his eyes roamed around in Brom's home, and he decided that he could have hardly found a better place. _It's like I'm choosing future owners for a favourite dog's puppies… _He laughed quietly to himself.

Brom pointed at the money on the side table. "It's still more than I need for stable fees or a set of clothes."

"It's enough to have a good sword crafted as well."

Just when Brom wanted to comment, they heard voices outside, coming near. Both rushed to an open window, although Murtagh stayed back some, so as not to be seen from the outside. "We're almost there," he heard the voice of a boy that he could not see. Hoof beats sounded dull on the tamped earth outside.

"It's him," Brom said and hastened to the door, throwing Murtagh a warning glance to stay inside.

Murtagh pressed himself to the wall next to the window and looked out, his field of vision being rather small. Soon the boy he had heard came into view, gesturing wildly and diving into details about Brom's neighbours. Then Murtagh saw the muddy head of Tornac, his horse apparently leading Eragon and not the other way around. Then he saw _him_, and could not help but smile.

Eragon must have been very nervous, for he was sweating and his face was flushed. The hands holding Cadoc's reins were not the quietest, either. When he jumped down, he looked rather unsteady on his legs for a moment. _Just like this morning,_ Murtagh thought, and immediately the reason for that was back in his mind. But once he began undressing Eragon in his thoughts, kissing along every patch of newly naked skin – and very much liking these thoughts as his aroused body confirmed – Brom came into view, greeting Eragon, and Murtagh killed his fantasies and decided to wait for the real thing to happen again. _Which will be when? _a part of his body asked, but he chose to ignore all that the question implied.

"Welcome to Carvahall!" Brom said, and Eragon bowed and expressed his gratitude for being there. When a moment later he was hugged tightly by his 'uncle', the look on his face that Murtagh could see over Brom's shoulder was rather confused – and even more nervous. "The horses can't stay with me," Brom informed him, "let us bring them to their new home." Nodding, Eragon followed the old man.

Murtagh sighed and closed his eyes. The first part of the cord had been cut.

To him it was an eternity until Eragon and Brom returned, although he knew it could not have taken longer than maybe the quarter of an hour. The front door was opened forcefully, and in came Brom, carrying Murtagh's disguised swords – Murtagh's hands twitched – and Eragon, carrying the saddle bags.

With a little smile around his lips Brom set the weapons down, watching Murtagh. "That look on your face right now…" He turned to Eragon. "This is where I live. Make yourself at home."

Eragon nodded, his eyes taking in every detail as Murtagh's had earlier. Apparently he liked what he saw, for soon he smiled. Then his gaze came to rest on Murtagh, and the smile turned radiant. He put the saddle bags down at the door and came to stand next to his former travel mate.

"You survived it," Murtagh stated dryly.

"Only barely!" Eragon protested, but the protest did not reach his eyes. There, in the blue depths, lust was stirring, as it always did after something exciting had happened. He was about to lean over to Murtagh with the clear intention of receiving a kiss when Brom stirred in a corner, and Eragon drew back as if Murtagh had just backslapped him. His head crimson red and an apologetic smile on his lips he turned around and towards his host. "Can I help you?" With three swift strides he was at Brom's side.

Murtagh sat back down in the armchair. _Seems as if the stable time has helped them over the first obstacles. _He knew it was something he should embrace, but at the moment he was not in the mood for it. Moreover, even though their agreement not to let Brom know what was truly going on was a wise one, he would rather just hold Eragon to his chest instead of keeping the distance. _Or undress him and make him groan…_

Brom and Eragon came over carrying three goblets, of which Eragon handed one to Murtagh, placing a kiss on its brim when Brom was not looking. Murtagh chuckled, and when Brom went to retrieve two chairs from the main table, he licked along the same spot, throwing Eragon a pointed glance.

Eragon took a very deep breath and sat down.

"Oh, don't!" Murtagh jumped up and offered the armchair to Brom, quickly claiming the wooden one Brom had carried over. "'Tis not nice to make an old man sit uncomfortably."

"Old man." Brom snorted. "And that coming from a whippersnapper like you…"

"A what?" Eragon looked from one to the other. "I… well, last time I was informed," he explained to Brom, "you two were… big enemies. Now you're… only insulting each other. Not even with very bad words."

"But in exchange you just formed bad sentences." Murtagh softened his words with a smile. Then he took a big gulp from his goblet and frowned. _Diluted ale?_ "We're not at the wine stage yet, I see?"

Brom pointed to the sunlight streaming in through the window. "It's not wine _time_ yet."

With several deep gulps Murtagh downed his drink. "It's _leaving_ time." Shoving the chair back, he stood up.

Eragon choked on his ale, nearly spitting out the sip he had just taken. _"Now_?" he croaked.

_If you could only read my mind._ "There's no reason to delay. You're in good hands." Most obviously, that did not make Eragon feel any better. "Remember how I left you in Ceunon? That's what I'll need to do now as well."

"How you left me in…? You left me? I thought-" For the most fleeting moment Eragon's eyes went wide and communicated that he had figured it out. "I thought you would not do that again," he finished his sentence, making it sound slightly reproachful.

"I'm sorry!" Murtagh played along. "I'll be visiting you as soon as I can." Mockingly he raised an index finger. "I don't want to hear any complaints!"

"You won't!" Eragon stepped forward and embraced Murtagh, albeit doing so in a very manly way and thumping him on the back. While being close to Murtagh's ear, he whispered, "You did not leave me in Ceunon!"

As quietly as Eragon, Murtagh whispered back. "Keep a window open tonight." He untangled himself and picked up his swords, fastening them to his body with routine. "If you can sense trouble ahead, send me a message," he told Brom. "And if trouble should ever be too close for a message, flee to the Spine. It isn't really as dangerous as the people say and-" The look on the old Rider's face had him shut up. "… But I guess you are about the last person afraid of the Spine."

With a slight bow to Brom and a smile for Eragon, Murtagh pulled his hood deep in his face again and climbed out of a back window.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Murtagh swore to himself never to tell anybody, least of all Thorn.

So maybe his dragon's assessment that Eragon had crept into his heart was right. And of course Thorn had been witness to what had taken place in the last days and to the development before. Moreover, Thorn had more than once expressed surprise and amusement concerning the many different aspects of behaviour Murtagh was displaying around or regarding Eragon. But what it was finally making him do now – him, a Rider, an army general, a noble man, one with principles and a reputation – was something Thorn could never know, else he might tease Murtagh for the rest of his life.

_I should have taken my leave in the woods,_ Murtagh thought, but immediately a voice in his head pointed outthat he had been unable to_. _He suppressed a groan and moved his left leg to improve the blood flow. The motion caused the bigger of the two pigs to pay renewed attention to their unbidden stable guest, but apparently the situation was not doomed grunt-worthy. _Hiding out with the pigs… I guess that's a new low in my life. _Again the voice had an opinion, too: _You'd go far lower for him._

This time his groan was audible. Half a day already he had spent jammed in the small shack with the two pigs, and although it was built in such a shabby way that a light breeze could be felt inside, he could very well imagine what he would smell like later. _And later is when?_ From where he was sitting, Murtagh could see the street as well as the door of Brom's house. Soon after the sun had set, Brom and Eragon had left, the old man carrying a lantern to light the way. Murtagh had not understood what they had been talking about, but Eragon's tone, albeit still a little shy, had held the promise of a thousand questions just below the surface. That, Murtagh knew, was a sure sign that Eragon was acclimating. _But they surely must return soon?_

In the end, it took another hour until he caught sight of his lover again. Chatting away, Eragon and Brom came walking down the street, entered the house, and were out of Murtagh's field of perception once more.

As it had been dark for hours already, he figured that he could change places and perhaps catch parts of the conversation, so he rose to his feet, or rather, began the process of it. Despite all previous efforts, his legs were numb and he knew they would soon burn like fire. As a bonus, his back was aching and forced him to move like a seventy-year-old. _The things one does…_ The pigs watched him with interest, oinking every now and then. In a mood to seal the most ridiculous and unworthy hours of his life, Murtagh oinked back.

In only a few instants he had crossed the street and was around Brom's house, cowering down below the open shutters of the backside window he had used earlier as an exit. As far as he could tell, the night protected him from any searching eyes. The last possible obstacle now was Brom. _Eragon better get him out of the way._

"… but she won't do it. She likes Roran, you see? And even though her father is against the relationship… Well, whoever said young love makes sense?" Brom's tone was melancholy.

"Maybe young love is foolish," Murtagh heard Eragon say, "but then, maybe that's part of why it's so beautiful."

"Are you a poet?" Brom asked with the usual ironic tinge to his voice.

Eragon laughed. "No. Instead I've been told several times that I have no talent because I'm so… practical I think is the word. Who's Roran?"

"The handsome object of Katrina's love, and apart from that, a farmer, living with his father a little outside of Carvahall. I'm planning to introduce you to him soon."

"Why?"

By the sound of it, something was put on the table and then a chair scratched over the floor and someone stood up. "No one your age should be stuck with someone my age all day long. I'd say I'll show you some more of the village tomorrow, and we can visit Garrow's farm in the process." Someone – probably Brom – mounted the stairs. "As it's the habit of old men, they tire early." Yet he said it clearly amused. "Put out the candle, will you?"

"Of course. Good night, Brom! And… thank you!"

Brom chuckled. "Let's see whether you'll still say that in a month to come. Good night!" A door was shut.

Murtagh felt how a smile crept on his lips. _Go to sleep, old man, go to sleep! _he chanted silently, but his patience was challenged anew.

Only long after Eragon had killed the candle and had stopped moving around did a soft snore reach Murtagh's ears, and it was not coming from the ground level. Feeling a greater triumph than after a won battle, he stood up, unfastened Zar'roc, and removed his boots. _If I wake Brom because I'm not careful…_

He leaned over the windowsill and looked inside, and, with his eyes accustomed to the dark, immediately spotted Eragon to his right. He was lying on a wooden bench – and sleeping.

Murtagh took his sword and his boots and carefully lowered them inside the house, then pushed himself up on the sill and slid down on the other side. "_Finna draumr!_" The tiniest amount of magic left his body and floated through the air, rising higher and vanishing beneath the door to Brom's bedroom. He knew it crossed the lines of his fragile truce with the man, but at the moment, undisturbed time with Eragon had priority.

The wavering red glow returned, and with a gesture of his hand Murtagh redirected it, sending it to hover over Eragon to illuminate his face. _His beautiful, beautiful face,_ Murtagh thought, stepping close. With one last movement he made the magic disappear and kneeled down, cupping the face with both hands. "I'll miss you so much," he whispered, and briefly considered simply leaving at that point. But breaking his promise to this one special person was not part of his life anymore.

He leaned down and brushed his lips against Eragon's, then examined the makeshift bed of the younger one. Both bench and the straw mattress on top were rather wide, and as Eragon had not even stirred yet… Murtagh gently shoved the other against the wall and lay down next to him, pulling him into an embrace. He buried one hand in the soft hair and enjoyed the feeling for a moment before waking the other.

"… Murtagh?" Eragon yawned, disoriented. "Murtagh!" Suddenly he was wide awake.

"Shh. Only whispering."

Eragon nodded. Then his teeth showed – he was smiling. "And kissing."

"Mhmm," Murtagh mumbled into the other's mouth. _I'll miss this._

"Brom's sleeping?" Eragon asked a moment later.

"That should have been your first question."

"I was distracted," Eragon whispered and nibbled at the lobe of Murtagh's ear. "It's not my fault that you are… who you are."

"Who am I?" Murtagh turned on his side to relieve his still aching back and was now facing the other. Thus he did not miss the frown forming – and the sniffing nose.

"I'm… I'm not sure, but…" Eragon moved closer, sniffing intensified. "You stink!"

Murtagh snorted. "Aye. But it's your fault."

Eragon sniffed at his own arms. "How?"

"_You_ don't stink, stupid! Let me tell you…" In a few sentences Murtagh recounted his uneventful and uncomfortable afternoon.

Eragon giggled and pressed his face to the pillow. "You really _are_ a pig sometimes… or pig-headed. Do they say that here, too?"

"Yes, we say that. I'm glad you find it funny."

"No, don't get me wrong. What I find funny is imagining you crammed in with two pigs, and what I think your expression looked like."

"I'm sure I was handsome as always," Murtagh remarked dryly. "Could you please acknowledge already what I've gone through?"

"You're my hero!" Eragon said with utter admiration. Utter false admiration.

"Very well. So you _are_ able to learn, after all." Murtagh loved these conversations.

Eragon jabbed him in the rips playfully, but when Murtagh flinched and gasped more than expected his eyes went wide. "Are you hurt?"

The impact from his rips had shot right to Murtagh's back, and it was indeed hurting, but he just shrugged. "Pig-stiffness."

"What?"

"Only my back, don't worry. It's easily stiff."

Eragon regarded him for a moment. "Lay on your stomach!" he ordered all of a sudden.

_What? _Murtagh chuckled darkly. "You're not going to take me, if that's what you're aiming for."

"Murtagh!" Eragon sat up and shook his head. "I don't… I mean, I do… Turn around already!"

"Getting dominant, aren't we?" But Murtagh was obedient, finding it both amusing and oddly appealing. The moment he had turned around, Eragon sat down on his waist and tugged at his shirt, and, with Murtagh's help, pulled it over his head. Then Murtagh felt two warm hands on his shoulders which began kneading his flesh and muscles. _So that's what he wanted to do_. A long sigh escaped him. "In fate's name, Eragon!"

"Do you like it?" Eragon asked smugly.

"Had I known of this talent, I would have you made you do it every night."

"Good that you didn't." Eragon's thumbs wandered down the spine, loosening one knot after the next. "There wouldn't have been much time for anything else."

Murtagh chuckled.

They were quiet after that, each lost in thought. Eragon's hands continued to work miracles on the back, but then he suddenly stopped and lay down on top of Murtagh, just as Murtagh had done that morning. "I don't want you to leave!"

Murtagh groaned inwardly. "You said the bad word."

"I have to – it's reality, and it's drawing near."

Murtagh craned his neck and tried to catch the other's eye in the darkness. "As far as I can tell, you're getting along well with Brom so far…"

"I am. But that won't make me miss you less."

"… I'll miss you, too."

"Really?"

Murtagh turned around beneath Eragon so that the younger one was now straddling him. "Of course!" He smirked. "I guess I like being messed around with."

Eragon's eyebrows shot up. "I mess around with you?"

_If you only knew__! _"Only emotionally."

"Oh." Eragon thought for a moment, his expression turning cunning. A hand wandered to Murtagh's waist and imitated what it had done to the back and shoulders before, but soon it moved further to the centre, and the quality of the ministrations changed. "_Only_ emotionally?" he asked innocently.

"Grnnn." In no time Murtagh's trousers were gone as well and he was hard in Eragon's hand. "You're a curse!"

"As long as you like it."

_Bastard! _

They shared a look and grinned. Murtagh enjoyed the treatment some longer, but then took a deep breath and grabbed the hand and removed it. "Eragon… perhaps it's better only to remember what we already had. If we do it again right now, it'll make leaving so much harder."

Eragon shook his head and leaned down for a kiss. "It'll make remembering so much better."

Murtagh scrutinized him while trying to ignore his body, which was rooting for Eragon's opinion. _But then, isn't it hard enough already? _"As you wish." Using his advantage in both strength and reaction time, he flipped Eragon over to be on top, and in record time undressed him. "You _will_ remember this night," he promised, and then, chuckling, "at least while walking tomorrow."

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

The north wind bringing an end to summer helped Thorn to be lazy on their way south, as he was able to sail more than fly. _I wonder if it's cold in Montana… Carvahall can certainly be cold in winter!_

_Hush!__ No more of it until we're returning. _

_Your thoughts are still with him. Why not talk, then?_

Murtagh sighed. _Mentioning things in a conversation makes them so… final. _

_Bird of prey ahead! _Thorn flapped his wings and his huge body shot forward, missing the careless eagle – on purpose – only by inches. With a screech the bird dove down to get away from what he considered a deathly thread. Thorn chuckled, sending vibrations through his Rider. _They're so stupid!_

Not for one second had the manoeuvre distracted Murtagh from his focus on Eragon. _He has all he needs, _he thought, _a caring host and mentor, a warm place to sleep, food and drink, and probably even a friend already…_ But instead of being happy and content about not having to worry, he felt rather miserable. _No matter how well he is taken care of, he's not with me…_ The intensity of the emotion surprised and scared him; never had he wanted to be so deeply involved with another person.

_If you wish to make matters final by conversation, I could turn around and-_

_No! _Murtagh groaned. He had not meant for Thorn to hear those thoughts, but shielding from his dragon was a difficult task these days – he lacked an enormous amount of concentration. _I want us to treat this like… like a dream, okay?_

_Okay?_ Torn asked back, emphasizing each syllable of the foreign word and chuckling again. _We treat him like a dream, but you use his words during the day?_

Murtagh swallowed. _A dream,_ he repeated. _A wonderful dream from which I have to wake already. Life didn't take a break while I wasn't participating._

But Thorn was not in a mood yet to let the topic drop. _I never knew humans could feel like that about someone they can't mate with…_

Now it was Murtagh's turn to chuckle. _I had some intense mating with him!_

_I didn't mean-_

_I know. But when have you heard me wish to found a family, Thorn? You're the one who wants to produce offspring._

_Your race isn't at the verge of extinction!_

_True, true. _Murtagh patted his dragon's neck in a gesture of appeasement. _I'm curious as to what has happened to the blue egg in the meantime… Brom was exactly a fountain of information – if he has any. _

_You like him, do__n't you?_

_I can't help but regard him with respect. He fights a losing battle, and has done so for long years, but is as far from surrendering or giving up as anyone could possibly be._

Thorn thought for a moment. _But aren't you afraid that he's going to teach Eragon in the spirit of-_

_No more Eragon! _Murtagh nearly yelled, demonstrating how much torture being separated truly was for him.

Not that Thorn did not know that already.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

The rest of the day Murtagh forcefully kept his thoughts clear of anything handsome, blond, and blue-eyed, and instead concentrated on the most difficult tasks ahead. If anything, the last months had been the final confirmation for him that he needed to change paths, needed to get away from the king. However, he did not have the slightest idea of how that task could be accomplished. Moreover, as Thorn pointed out, they were still without ally, and thus _could_ not alter politics at the moment. A lonely renegade against all others was a sure way to find sudden death. Lastly, Thorn had many scruples about going against Shruikan. The only two living of their race had formed a strong bond of loyalty over the years.

Throughout their process of making plans and weighing consequences, the weather had been changing. A strong wing had picked up – much to Thorn's pleasure and enjoyment, as it still carried them in the desired direction and he did not have to fight it – and the sun had gradually disappeared behind thick clouds, which became darker by the hour. Looking back, Murtagh saw that the storm was originating in the north, and by the look of it promised to get wild. Once the first thunder rolled and raindrops wetted scale and skin, they decided to have covered enough distance for the day and Thorn descended, finding them a hideout beneath a low cliff.

_This summer we had a horrible storm in Du Weldenvarden, _Murtagh told his dragon. _It felt as if the world would end. Next morning, summer was back – and we found Eragon. _

_After a storm?_ There was an unusually curious edge to Thorn's voice.

_Yes, why?_

_Just something Shruikan once told me… Ah, but it's only dragon lore. _He would say no more.

Murtagh chewed on a piece of bread spiritlessly. It was the second night after Eragon – his new calculation of times – and it did not promise to be any better than the first. Even though he had now forbidden himself to linger on memories, they stole into his mind unbidden. Sometimes it was as if he could almost hear Eragon ask a question or make a comment, and he only needed to close his eyes to imagine kissing the other, touching him, giving him all he had to offer.

When the storm reached its full intensity, Murtagh huddled close to Thorn's side and rolled up in his cloak to stay warm. But sleep apparently made an effort not to cross his way, and it was not only the constant flashes that kept him awake. An underlying restlessness had taken hold of him without any obvious reason being present, so eventually he stood up again and emerged from beneath his dragon's wing to look out at the world.

Flashes were chasing each other on their way to the ground, and gusts of wind sent the rain in all directions and not just falling from the sky to the earth. Above all, a cacophony of thunder roared as if an army of giants was drumming on their war drums. _But it's only a storm, _Murtagh mused, _so why does it unsettle me? _

He retreated a step and caught a red eye watching him. _Do you feel… odd?_

_I never like __what powers a storm unleashes in the sky. It makes my claws and my fire look like a child's toys. _

Murtagh shook his head. _That's not what I meant. Something isn't as it should be…_ His thoughts were on Eragon again, and he was deeply worried. _We found him after the storm… an unnaturally violent storm. Would you call this one unnaturally violent?_

_I would, _Thorn replied without hesitation.

All of a sudden Murtagh was afraid to death. _What if this storm makes him disappear?_ He began pacing along his dragon's side, clenching and unclenching his fists. _One to appear, one to disappear._

_Don't be stupid! Have you ever heard of storms making people disappear? They sometimes kill a person, but otherwise…_

_Quiet! I don't like that, either. _

_Brom is looking after him._

Murtagh ignored the argument. _But something had him appear here, made him… cross worlds even, and we never figured out how it happened. The only thing out of order was the storm._

_Rider! _Thorn caught the agitated human with his tail and pulled him close. _Storms do not make people cross worlds. I could only think of magic to do that._

_Magic? There's no one with magic strong and special enough for such a task, Thorn. It's beyond any magician!_

… _I wonder if it was beyond a dragon?_

Murtagh snorted and shook his head. _Something isn't right! I feel… strange. Something is happening to Eragon. _A decision was formed in an instant. _We're going back! _He immediately glowered at Thorn, anticipating an argument.

To his surprise, it never came.

_After the storm_, was the only condition Thorn had.

_You're not disagreeing?_

_No! _A shudder ran through Thorn, and once again his voice had the strange edge to it. _I feel a little strange as well. _

A lurid, blue flash illuminated the land for long seconds, but Murtagh missed it. All he saw at that moment was a fire burning in his dragon's eyes, and scales glowing red as if hit by a thousand rays of sunlight. Never had he witnessed anything the like before, but his dragon would not explain, only roared in unison with the thunder.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

They left their shelter as soon as the storm lessened. It was raining still, and Thorn had to fight the strong wind that now hit him full force, but neither was willing to wait a moment longer.

Murtagh had the suspicion that his dragon's motives differed strongly from his own worry for Eragon, but said worry was so overwhelming that he quickly gave up trying to gain any information from Thorn, who kept his thoughts shielded. And yet, Murtagh could feel that something had unsettled his friend, and despite an apparent eagerness to get north that equalled his Rider's, Thorn was confused.

All day the dragon flew with all his might, straining his wings and heart. He granted himself only a brief rest late at night, and was flying again when the next dawn was breaking.

By mid-morning of their second day returning, the Anora River came back into sight, and soon after Therinsford. Thorn's flight had turned into a fight, while Murtagh's stomach had converted itself into one quirky mass of uncontrolled… something. _If anything happened to him because I left too early, because I wasn't there to protect him… _The path of his life was lined with murder, rape, torture – matters other humans were likely not able to live with – but if his worries about Eragon were proven true, that would be the one thing _he_ could not live with.

_Not long now, _Thorn remarked, constantly moving his head from right to left and an occasional grunt leaving his body.

_You act as if we're going to battle._

_I act as if am trying to find a hidden enemy, _Thorn corrected.

If possible, Murtagh's heart grew even heavier. _There are enemies around? _

_I'm not- I don't trust my senses at the moment. _

Murtagh cried out in frustration.

Early afternoon they reached Carvahall. As he had done three days ago, Thorn vanished out of view behind the mountain closest to it, and Murtagh started running the moment his feet touched the earth. _Stay in my mind! _he instructed, delegating the task so that he could concentrate on other matters.

_If you wish… How are you planning to get to Brom? Last time it took you half an eternity._

_No more sneaking in, _Murtagh explained. _Hiding my face must be enough. I can't delay. _

_Good luck!_

Murtagh approached Carvahall from the same side he had last time, but now he chose the nearest street to enter the village. He hid the richly adorned hilts of his swords beneath his cloak and had his hood drawn deep into his face once more. Still, several people paused in their work, throwing him sceptical, worried, or scared looks. He knew he had the body and the movement of an experienced warrior, and the colour of his clothes was associated with exactly one person: him. _But why would Murtagh visit such an unimportant village such as this? _he hoped they would think. And then: _I cannot waste time._

When he neared Brom's house, not only his own unease increased, but that of the villagers spotting him as well. A dark warrior coming for Brom was different from a dark warrior just passing through. _As long as they don't raise the alarm…_

_Do you feel anything? _Thorn asked, referring to the house coming into sight.

Murtagh stopped dead and concentrated. _Nothing._

_Smell? Hear? See?_

_Nothing._ In no time Murtagh was at the door, then paused anew. _Shouldn't I sense Eragon?_ He entered and simultaneously drew his sword.

The house was empty.

Murtagh stood stark and stiff, the blood pumping in his veins and every thread of his being on high alert. _He isn't here. _With a few strides he was at the empty, makeshift bed, and found it in perfect order. At its side, the clothes he had lent Eragon were folded neatly and piled up. _He isn't here!_

Not knowing what else to do, he raced up the stairs and into Brom's bedroom, but it was empty as well. The bed was made properly just as Eragon's, but, taking a closer look, Murtagh noticed how several drawers of a dresser were not closed completely, and a large wooden chest was sticking out from under the bed.

He returned to the top of the stairs and gave the rest of the house a closer look, too. As a whole, it was fairly orderly, but then there was a mug that had fallen off a rack next to the stove, and a small cabinet at the side of the fireplace stood open. He strolled down the stairs, noticing a single sock on his way which he had missed when storming upwards. _What is this? _he asked Thorn, perplexed by his findings.

In their shared thoughts, Thorn replayed the pictures he had seen in Murtagh's mind. _It's as if two places were fused into one. In one, people left the house properly and with the clear intention to leave, in the other, someone just grabbed a few things and left in a hurry, not paying attention to what it looks like in the house. _

_But it's only one place!_ Murtagh again stood in front of Eragon's bed. _Either they left and someone of Brom's lovely little villagers isn't as lovely as he thinks, or… or they left and came back, suddenly in the need of many more things and under time pressure._ _Thorn! Do you now sense any enemies?_

_No._

_Curse this! _Murtagh kicked against the bench. _What now?_

_Search them, of course__!_

Murtagh nodded and briefly massaged his temples. Being over-anxious was not helping. _I'll find you, little one, _he promised Eragon in his thoughts, _I'll find you wherever you are. If anyone has hurt you… they will regret it!_ He turned around, crossed the room, and opened the door – only to retreat instantaneously and draw both swords.

Outside, a good ten people had gathered, villagers, who looked more than ready to attack him. There were six adult men among them, he noted, and all of them were armed one way or another.

"Get out, demon!" the largest of the group growled. Judging by his giant size and the hammer he was swinging he was the local blacksmith.

Murtagh looked out at them from inside the house. _If I massacre them, Brom will be very, very angry… _"I've not come to stir up trouble," he announced, and then, as it was obvious anyways, "I'm looking for Brom."

Surprisingly, a high-pitched, very young voice answered. It belonged to a small girl standing in the door of the house on the other side of the street. "Brom's not here. They left for a farm, he said, outside of-" One of the men had run to her and now pressed a hand over her mouth, the others were watching the scene in shocked silence.

Murtagh smirked. The girl might not have finished the sentence, but she had pointed in the direction in question long before the man had reached her. He mock-bowed to everyone facing him, then whirled around and jumped out of the back window before.

_I'm coming, Eragon! _he thought, racing through the village, _I'm coming!_


	16. Journeys end in lovers meeting

**A/N: **

1. I'm a wee bit afraid of telling you, but this is actually the last chapter (okay, I'm cheating, there'll be an epilogue next week, but still). Look at the title **–** it's the closing piece to the first chapter, and, as the first, describes the theme of this fic: journeys.

On the one hand, we have the literal journey of the two through the north of Eragonland, or rather, Murtagh unsure about where to go next but nonetheless pulling Eragon along. On the other hand, we have the development of both characters, which I'd like to describe as journeys as well. Murtagh goes from inglorious bastard to an actually reasonable person (when it comes to Eragon he's even nice), and Eragon goes from high school student to... I can't say it, but I think all of you know. And all these journeys will have come to an end once this chapter is finished, and the fic is _not _about what happens next. It's done.

2. I was _so close_ to have the Ra'zac kill off Brom here, just as I was _so close_ a few chapters ago to let Murtagh leave without making up with Eragon, which could have led to the Riders opposing each other on the Burning Plains. Both would have been wonderfully close to canon, but then, I'm such a weakling. No unhappy or overdramatic end for this fic.

3. A general shoutout to all my reviewers: you're wonderful, you're amazing, and you're simply the best! Thank you so much for all your feedback, criticism, and praise! You made me a very happy person!

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

_Kvertha, skulblaka_: "Greetings, dragon."

* * *

**Journeys end in lovers meeting**** – ****Shakespeare**

**Chapter 16**

September 25th

* * *

_Murtagh flicked his tongue along Eragon's ear. __"You like that, don't you?" _

"_Yes," Eragon gasped, not so much referring to what was done to his ear. He pushed back to impale himself deeper onto the other. "Move!"_

"_As you wish." Murtagh withdrew almost all the way, then went back in, slowly but forcefully. Eragon moaned. "Like that?"_

"_Yes!" _

_Murtagh chuckled and repeated the action, this time going a little faster. Eragon moaned louder. "Again?" _

"_Yes!"_

_Very soon Murtagh's thrusts sent Eragon rocking back and forth on the bed. His whole body began to tingle and shiver, while his mind was floating through spheres of pleasure, rising higher and higher. Without wasting a thought on it, he took himself into his hand and started pumping along, waiting in bliss for his rapidly approaching climax. _

"_Quiet!" Murtagh ordered, but kept his pace._

_Too confused, Eragon only groaned louder. Close, so close. _

_His hand sped up._

_All of a sudden Murtagh stilled and grabbed Eragon's wrist, tearing it away from his privates. "Too loud," he grumbled, and then, "Wake up!"_

Startled, Eragon sat up straight in bed. A quick look around in the dark room told him that he was alone, even though he needed a few moments to realize it – the dream had been too real. One of his hands, he found out a moment later, was still clasped firmly around his aroused flesh, moving on its own accord. _Oh dear! _

He shook his head to clear his mind and little by little regained control of his body. Reluctantly the hand stopped moving and let go, which was not received too well on parts of the erection, but Eragon ignored it. He was sweating all over and still breathing raggedly. _Oh dear! _

At sixteen, he had had his share of wet dreams, and recently, he had also had his share of dreams with Murtagh in it. But a combination as the one he had just experienced was new, and of a new intensity. And good.

Fully aware of his needs now, Eragon returned his hand to where it had been and resumed stroking himself. The moment he closed his eyes, he saw Murtagh, who was eyeing him with the typical smirk that made him look so very sexy. _So good! _Eragon gasped.

Fantasizing that it was the Rider touching him, and almost hearing Murtagh whisper dirty things, Eragon came faster than he would have expected. Lying in the afterglow, he reluctantly said good-bye to the mental picture, and right after invited it to come back whenever it wished to.

Only slowly did his heart go back to its normal pace, but the more it did, the clearer became his thinking. Soon he was embarrassed. _What if Brom heard me?_ His heart sped up again. Carefully he listened into the dark, distracted by the blood that was still rushing in his ears. To his relief, however, all was quiet on the first floor. But then, he already knew Brom was not like other men. He swallowed. _I can't let that happen again!_

He was not too sure that he would be able to abide by that rule.

The two previous days, in total, could only be called wonderful, and the same applied to Brom. More than once Eragon had had to tell himself just how stupid it had been to be afraid. Still, despite all the distraction and new impressions, not an hour had passed in which he had not thought of Murtagh, had not missed Murtagh, had not wished Murtagh was there as well. So with his heart and mind crying out for the raven-haired already, it should not have surprised him that his body was sending the same message.

It did not make matters any better, however.

For weeks Eragon had ignored who Murtagh was when he was _not_ with him, but now it was painfully obvious that the Rider had gone to war, which meant fighting and an endless number of threats. Whenever Eragon allowed these thoughts to cross his mind, he was devastated. On the one hand, imagining Murtagh fighting and killing people was terrifying, and when Eragon thought that it could be any of the friendly elves dying he felt even worse, almost dizzy. On the other hand, the thought that Murtagh would get hurt, that Murtagh could _die_, was unbearable and made Eragon's heart stop beating and his lungs stop working. It could not be.

Unbidden, a picture formed in his mind; again he was seeing Murtagh. This time, however, the warrior was not smirking, but instead every emotion was wiped off his nearly white face. His eyes were open but not seeing anymore, staring lifeless into space. A fine red line of blood made its way down from one corner of his mouth to his chin… _No!_

Eragon realized that he would rather have Murtagh kill the people that were about to attack him than have _them_ kill _him_. At the same time, the thought alone felt like summoning hell and he was disgusted with himself. Fervently he prayed that Murtagh would just keep away from battle as much as possible and find other tasks. _He promised! _

Eragon rubbed his temples to get rid of the nightmarish daydreams, hard as it was. For the moment, he had to deal without Murtagh, and therefore place his focus on other matters.

He pushed open the shutters of the window above his bed, and a fresh breeze made him shiver and successfully dispersed the last clouds of missing and anguish. _On to a new day!_

Once more Eragon listened closely. There was still no sound coming from Brom's bedroom, but the awakening village outside could be heard. A baby was crying, pigs were grunting, and a woman was yelling either at a man or a dog, who were both howling shortly afterwards.

With Brom apparently not up yet, Eragon lay down again to rest open-eyed.

He figured that being in Carvahall was about the strangest thing that had happened to him in many months, for the simple reason of it being so normal. It held the promise of becoming a regular, orderly life, with a schedule of tasks every day and no surprises jumping at him as they had far too many times during his travels. _I shall not mind that_, he thought, his eyes wandering in the grey light from one part of the room to the next. Everything was solid. The house was of a solid wooden built, the furniture of a good quality, and all those books promised a place of knowledge, a place where questions could be answered. _It's as if Brom is there to bring back structure to my life. _The idea pleased him, as did the thought of staying in one place. _Actually, this could be a home…_

By no means had Eragon forgotten his stay in Ellesméra, but it had never triggered any comparisons with home as Carvahall – despite all its medievalness – did. The elves and their settlements had simply been too different for Eragon to feel truly comfortable; he very much preferred a home with straight walls, with windows that could be closed, or with a stove and a kettle on top. _Just like Brom's house! _It did not even bother him much to imagine a future without electricity. Some things, he had long since learned, were surprisingly easy to live without.

Others, however, were not. Forcefully he pushed back Murtagh, who was again sneaking into his thoughts.

On the first day after the Rider's departure, Eragon had complimented Brom on his home, tentatively hinting at how different Ellesméra had felt to him. To his surprise, his host had immediately agreed. Eragon had then dared to go into details, but still, Brom had nodded his head to everything. At the same time, he held the elves in highest regards, counting them as good friends and loyal allies. Eragon had nearly cheered out loud, so happy had he been about someone understanding his feelings. Until then, the only chance he had had to talk about the elves had been conversation with Murtagh, who, despite his efforts to give a fair account, was strongly biased. Negatively biased. In this respect, Brom was heaven-sent.

The shared sentiments towards the elves as well as their mutual preference of human settlements had broken more of the remaining barriers between Eragon and Brom, the conversations following being far more relaxed. It had been a very informative first day.

The next day after breakfast, Brom had taken him around the village and had introduced him to so many people that Eragon knew he was lucky to remember a fifth of the names. But just as Brom's home, Carvahall seemed orderly, and moreover, Eragon had received a ton of friendly smiles and only an occasional frown, which had heartened him to look forward with a positive attitude.

Later the day, they had left the village and walked some distance to the farm of the man named Garrow, who was living with his only son, Roran. There, Eragon had understood why Brom had wanted them to go: Roran and he had been on the same wavelength right from the start, and already Eragon was looking forward to their next meeting, sensing a possible future friend. It left him with the wonderful feeling of already belonging.

_What else could I__ possibly ask for?_ he asked himself rhetorically, but when his mind _again_ came up with a certain picture, he felt like slapping himself.

A flash of colour caught his eye and disturbed his thinking. The orange cat, which, Brom had explained, was not his but spent a great deal of its time here, had woken up and now made its way over to Eragon's bed, clearly aiming for the open window.

"Hey, kitty!" Eragon flicked his fingers to attract its attention, but seemingly was not deemed worthy enough to be spent time with. With only the shortest of looks the cat acknowledged his presence when it jumped on the bed, then it was up on the sill and a moment later gone. "Don't ever try to cuddle with me!" he called, leaning out the window and watching it disappear between neighbouring houses. "Next time, _I_ won't want _you_."

"Who are you talking to?"

Eragon flinched and shot around. He had not heard any noise coming from upstairs. "Hello, Brom!" _Do I look stupid, or do I look stupid?_ "It was just the cat."

"Ah, Minx." Brom descended down the stairs and walked to the stove, lightening a fire with flint and cinder. Murtagh had said that the man could likely still perform easy spells, but so far, Eragon had seen nothing of it. "I was wondering whether perhaps you talk in your sleep…"

Eragon hurried out of bed to help prepare breakfast. "I don't know, to be honest. Murtagh never said anything, though."

Brom looked at him. "Would he have told you if you did?"

Eragon stopped dead with two wooden plates in his hands. One of the first things he had learned about Brom was that he noticed more than others, and derived more from answers than only the obvious. "Yes, I think so," he said carefully. _How much does he suspect about us?_

Brom dropped the topic. "Could you see whether there are any eggs?"

"Sure." Quickly Eragon put the plates on the table and left, glad to get away from the questioning eyes. He went around the corner of the house to the small pen, which was occupied by a goat, four chicken, and a rooster. Accompanied by protests of all six, he felt in the nests for eggs, but when the chicken started picking at his hand and the goat nibbled at his pants, he knew he needed a different approach. Thus, he grabbed a handful of hay to appease the goat, then opened the door and ushered the chicken and rooster out, which later he would have done in any case. His next attempt looking for eggs was far more peaceful.

"You got cobweb in your hair," Brom informed him on returning.

"Oh." Eragon put three eggs on the table and felt self-consciously for the sticky treads.

While he had been gone, Brom had heated water for a tea and set the table with eating knives, bread, and cheese. Now a pan on the stove quickly turned the eggs into omelette, which Brom flavoured generously with salt. Eragon's mouth watered. The day before he had realized how tired he was of the unflavoured food he had had during their travels – not that he would ever hold that against Murtagh. Still, he now had a whole new grasp of his history books calling salt the 'white gold'.

His first mouth full of omelette was pure delight, and Eragon chewed extra slowly. But soon his mind wandered to other matters. "What are we going to do today?" When he realized that Brom was not there solely for his entertainment, he blushed. "I mean, can I help you with anything?"

Brom, however, seemed not to mind. "I thought that, as you don't have a sword at the moment, I could show you how to use a bow. Unless, of course, you are already skilled in the art..."

"No! No, I am not." At this point, Brom only knew that Eragon was from far, far away, and had yet to be told any specifics. "I'd like to learn, though," Eragon said, smiling, while a picture of Robin Hood was forming before his inner eye. A Robin Hood who looked like Murtagh. Eragon cursed under his breath.

"We could hunt ourselves some dinner, what do you think?" Brom was smiling as well. The idea seemed to appeal to him.

Eragon nodded eagerly. So far, it had always been Murtagh hunting for and organizing food. _Next time, I surprise him! _Then he remembered that he did not know when next time was, and his enthusiasm was dampened.

"Hunting it is, then." Brom cleared his plate with a piece of bread and stood up. "Pack some food, please, for us to eat lunch. I'll see to my bow."

It did not take long and they were set to go and left the house.

"Good morning, Madge!" they called in unison to their neighbour, who was busy plucking a chicken and greeted them without looking up. Her maybe five-year-old daughter came running around the house, looking exactly like her mother only in small and skinny, and, stupidly, also having her mother's name. "Hey, Madgie," Brom greeted, patting her on her head. Eragon waved.

She scrutinized the two of them, her eyes lingering on the bow. "You are going to hunt!"

Brom smiled down at her. "That's right."

"I'm coming! Ma!"

Old Madge looked up.

"I'm going with them!"

"Only till Webb's house, then you'll turn around!"

While young Madge was pouting, Eragon saw Brom nod at her mother, who nodded back, and off they went.

Instantaneously, Eragon had to accept that all conversation with Brom was postponed until after Webb's house – wherever that was – as the girl drowned them in a fountain of information, seemingly not breathing at all in between two sentences. In no time Eragon learned where all the nice children in Carvahall lived – "If you want to play with them." – and where those lived that he should avoid. His disbelieving and amused look was answered with a shrug of Brom's shoulders. "I've been invited to play with them as well, no need to feel out of place," the old man mumbled, and they grinned at each other.

Webb's house, Eragon soon found out, was the last in Carvahall's west. Little Madge was quiet all of a sudden, pouting again, but she obediently stayed behind, waving after them.

For a moment, Eragon and Brom treaded the path out of the village without speaking, mutually glad about the sudden silence. But when the sun broke through the early autumn morning's mist, Eragon could not help but admire his surroundings and comment on the wild meadow and the forest beginning not far ahead of them.

"It is a wonderful place to live," Brom confirmed "Just wait. It'll get even better soon." The path turned north, and he motioned for them to leave it and headed for the trees. Their feet left visible traces in the long, wet grass.

Carefully Eragon stepped around anything blooming this late of the year, following Brom who was going straight west. _Wait. We're going west?_ "Brom?" Eragon remembered Murtagh telling him about the surroundings of Carvahall.

Brom halted until Eragon had caught up to him.

"Are we going to the Spine?"

Brom was watching him, a light smile playing around his lips. "We are."

"Oh." Eragon looked up at the trees surrounding them, which seemed rather harmless. "Murtagh said that the Spine is… No, he said that the people say that the Spine is dangerous."

Brom took his time to answer. "The people also say that Murtagh is dangerous… Would you agree?"

Eragon grimaced. _Wonderful! _he thought ironically. "I think… I would have to agree, yes."

"But would you say he's dangerous when it comes to you?"

"No!"

Brom nodded, contemplating. "Why would you say that is?"

"He's not who you think he is!" _Are we still talking about the Spine?_

Brom raised a hand to appease. "I wouldn't say that I know who he is. I only know many of the things he's done, and I know that I've never heard of anything... anything like this happening." He made a gesture that included Eragon.

"It was different in the beginning," Eragon conceded, but he was not in the mood to go into length as he had done with the elves. "We're… very close. Friends. I know people don't expect that of him, but... in his life emotions are dangerous. That doesn't mean he doesn't have any." Shuffling through the forest floor, he figured that he had told Brom more than enough for the moment. He cleared his throat. "What about the Spine?"

Brom's eyebrows shot up. "I thought I had said all that was needed."

Eragon hesitated, feeling stupid out of precaution.

"I'm sorry if I wasn't clear." They had reached several unusually wide oaks, which seemed to tell Brom that they needed to turn south. Soon the invisible path he was following was rising noticeably. "What I meant was that danger is relative. The Spine isn't so different from other mountain ranges, but its history has seen tragedies and death, and these days people say the place is cursed." He threw Eragon a sidelong glance. "How easily is a Shadeslayer scared?" His voice held a strange note; it was the first time that the subject had come up, and therefore, the term had never left Brom's lips before.

Eragon shrugged. "I don't know. But so much has happened already… If I was not only scared of the things opposing me, but also of those that are only maybe there, or that are hiding… I couldn't leave the house, could I?" He grinned although the words had been a bit bolder than he felt.

"I like that. Don't be afraid of the Spine. Be careful, watch your surroundings, and you'll be fine."

They reached the top of the closest hill to Carvahall, which granted them a wonderful view on the forested mountains in the west, north, and east. To the south, the valley opened up into meadows and fields, with a road winding along a creek. "Look around!" Brom called. "Does anything look dangerous?"

Eragon was too awed to answer right away. He had grown up with spectacular sights, but there was nothing he could compare the Palancar valley with. "Maybe dangerous because we'll stand here all day, admiring the sight and wasting time?"

Brom chuckled. "You're right, let's go! But always remember: _every_ forest holds some dangers, but only for the ignorant!"

They walked for another hour, turning alternately south and west, until they reached a small clearing and Brom called for a stop. On their way, Eragon had seen Brom place a snare every now and then in passing. When the former Rider now handed him the bow, he could not help but shake his head and laugh a little. "How much do you trust me to earn us dinner?"

"What do you mean?"

"The slings."

Brom smiled. "After only weeks of practice with a sword you destroyed a Shade. But still, there were weeks of practice."

Eragon sighed. _You won._ "And I did not kill him because of my great swordsmanship, either," he admitted. "I guess those slings are a good idea."

"I thought so. Now, how much do you know about bows?"

"Err… You need arrows to use it?" Eragon shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, Brom."

"Don't be, don't be," the older man assured. "Here, take it. We'll start with the right posture and then I'll show you what to do with the tendon."

Later, Eragon would thank whatever powers might be that he had started practicing with already a good deal of muscles due to sword fighting. Had he been asked to draw Brom's bow back at home, he would have failed miserably. As it was, he had the wonderful basis of being strong enough, and solely had to work on his aim and how to properly loosen an arrow. But then, those two things were enough of a nightmare already.

The next arrow was freed from his hand and raced through the air.

"Excellent!" Brom called, clapping his hand and nearly jumping up and down. "Excellent!"

Eragon stared at the other open-mouthed for long seconds. "_If_ the arrow had flown far enough, it would have missed the target by at least ten yards!"

Brom thumped him on the back. "You won't hit anything for some time to come, but the way you did it… excellent. Wonderful posture, wonderfully focused."

Eragon was blushing. "Well… that isn't too bad, I guess?" He jogged to retrieve the arrow, which, compared to the occasional one Brom shot, was lying rather close. "Have I earned myself lunch?" he asked playfully on his way back.

Brom looked up at the sky where the sun had already passed its zenith. "I can hardly reject that."

They sat down beneath a chestnut, unpacking potato pies and diluted ale.

"Brom…" Eragon began after a while. "I… don't get me wrong, I think the Spine is a beautiful place, but… could we not have practiced right out of town? Why are we here?"

Brom grimaced as if caught. "We could have stayed, true, but as it's the nature of people with so little access to news, the villagers are horribly curious and eavesdropping whenever they can."

"Eavesdropping? Do you want to talk to me?"

Brom nodded, taking a long sip and thinking some. "Yes, I do... But I also wanted to show you the Spine!"

Eragon had a good idea of what Brom wanted to talk about. "Murtagh." _Again._

Brom nodded another time. "I don't know whether you can imagine just how complicated it is between us, with you here, I mean. Before, it was all settled."

"Enmity to death." Eragon sighed. It was the status quo that Murtagh had with several people.

"And now you tie us together, in a way, but I cannot accept him. Do you know what he's doing out there, Eragon? What he will be doing the next months?" Brom's tone changed from serious to disgusted. "Murder, I tell you! So many people he will meet, and so little will survive it. _We_ fight to free this country, but _he_ fights to keep the king in power. I cannot accept him!"

_Accept him? _Eragon was confused. "He doesn't-" he began, but then bit his lip. As much as he already liked and trusted Brom, he would not yet tell him of Murtagh secretly opposing the king. _Too much possible harm that I cannot foresee._ "We have an agreement," he said instead. "He's going to avoid as many battles as he can, and will refrain from killing if possible." This they had talked about in their last night before Carvahall – in between being intimate.

"An agreement?" Brom asked, disbelieving. "What's your part of it?"

"My part?" Eragon looked down on his hands. "I don't have a part. I just... asked him."

"You asked him?" Brom rose to his feet. "You _asked_ him? And he nodded and promised to do as you wished?"

Eragon looked up at Brom, frowning. _Shouldn't he be happy?_ He tried to remain as calm as possible, wanting to impress with the difference in their behaviour. "I don't think it should be of your interest how the agreement came about. It's there. He'll do his best."

"Don't be stupid! He wouldn't- There must be another reason!"

Eragon shook his head. "You can believe me or not, but I told you the truth." Briefly he weighed the pros and cons of telling more, and decided at least to hint. "Apart from that, he has other reasons to avoid fighting _for_ Galbatorix, but it is not for me to tell."

Brom studied him for long moments, the anger visibly retreating. Finally he extended a hand and touched Eragon's shoulder. "And it is not for me to be mad with you. I beg your forgiveness."

Eragon took the withered hand and squeezed it. "Sit down, please. I've seen how talking about this conflict makes even the calmest elf shout…"

Brom shook his head. "I should know better."

They sat in a strained silence for a while, Brom fumbling with his pipe and Eragon fiddling with an arrow in his hand.

"Brom?" Eragon eventually asked. "I'd like to make an agreement with you, too."

Brom looked at him, an ironic twinkle in his eyes. "Hear, hear." But he seemed curious.

"Do not judge him without truly knowing him… please."

Brom grimaced. "If I said no – which I'd like to do, believe me – I'd break with one of the basic principles I've fought for all my life… Therefore, I can't say no. I agree."

"Excellent!" Eragon copied Brom's earlier tone perfectly, making them both laugh.

"I have a condition, however," Brom said after a while.

Eragon's laughter ended in several coughs. "What is it?"

"You'll practice some more with the bow right now."

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

It was late afternoon and the sun had disappeared behind clouds when they turned back north. Brom was still very much content with how Eragon had handled the bow, while Eragon's opinion on this was on the opposite side of the scale.

When they reached the first of the slings they found a trapped rabbit, and without a word Brom beckoned Eragon to use his knife. Eragon swallowed. Murtagh had once forced him to do exactly this – kill a rabbit – but Eragon had felt sick for the rest of the day. Now, however, he understood the necessity – not only to kill for food, but also to prove his inner strength to Brom. Without further hesitation, he cut open the little throat. _Oh my God! _It was not in the least easier than last time.

Tactfully Brom had his eyes averted, but not, Eragon was sure, because of the rabbit, but rather because of Eragon's scruples. This way, the old man could pretend not to notice.

Within the next half hour the sky darkened, and they suspected a storm to be brewing. Contrary to their way south right through the forest, they were now taking a small path back, which ran parallel to the street heading for Carvahall. From their heightened point of view, Eragon could occasionally see a farm or someone hurrying down the road.

Suddenly Brom stopped. "Look! What do you see?" he asked, pointing to their right in the direction of the road.

"Hmm..." Eragon squinted his eyes but was not sure what the other meant. "There's a building... Is it a farm?"

"It is. Would you say someone lives there?"

"Err… yes. The chimney is smoking."

Brom grimaced. "It's Will's old farm. The entire family died last year."

"What? But who made the fire?"

Determination spread on Brom's face. "That's what I want to know." He turned to Eragon and took him by the shoulders. "Can you find the way home by yourself? I'd rather not take you with me, because I don't know who could be down there."

Eragon swallowed. "Sure. But... is it dangerous for you to go there on your own?"

"I hope not. Now go! We'll meet in Carvahall." His brow furrowed in concern, Brom left.

For a moment Eragon hesitated, watching after the old man. Then he remembered how both Brom and Murtagh had told him to leave some decisions to the former Rider and accept his guidance. _I better get going, then._

He turned north again, the dead rabbit dangling on a cord he carried in his right, an occasional drop of blood making its way to the ground. Every now and then he scanned his surroundings, but Carvahall was nowhere in sight yet, hidden from any curious eyes by the forest surrounding it. A look back told him that he had also lost sight of both the farm and Brom. Unconsciously, he walked faster.

About half an hour later a formation of huge rocks at the side of a steep hill to his left caught his attention. He remembered how earlier they had crossed that hill from the other side, and, more importantly, how Brom had placed a sling somewhere close to the foot of the hill before they had crossed it. _If I kill a rabbit without being asked to do so, it means so much more._ His mind was made up in an instant. Only briefly he wavered when a strong gust of wind made his cloak flap behind him and he realized just how dark the sky had become. Then he turned his steps away from the path and towards the hill.

Once he reached the rocks, the first raindrops fell on his face and hands; when he passed the summit, he already felt the need to pull his hood deep in his face. The moment when he indeed found another rabbit in the second sling, the first thunder roared, making him flinch.

Disturbed by the elements unfolding, Eragon did not have enough time to delay killing the frightened animal or feel much sympathy. His thoughts were already on the way ahead of him, or rather, on the way he had just taken. Now that the afternoon was dark as night, he would certainly not find the way they had come earlier through the thick of the forest. _Returning to the path is far more safe!_

However, on climbing back up the hill, he slipped. The first flash illuminated the way ahead, and he saw that the stony ground was completely wet, with small trickles of water already making their way down.

He ground his teeth and walked on, but it became only worse. Within the next five minutes, he slipped three more times without reaching the top. When last he fell and skittered several feet down, cutting open the palm of his right, he knew the path on the other side was not an option anymore. _Shit!_

Fighting the fear that was creeping upwards from his feet, he carefully made his way downward once more, staring at the forest in front of him. He knew Carvahall was somewhere to the north, but unknown as the forest was to him, chances were high he would miss it nonetheless. _And what if I lose my way and end up going in circles?_ Still, staying in one place was even worse.

His body set in defiance against the forces of nature he marched on, bowing his head and upper body against the wind and the cold rain. His hand burnt like fire. _I want a refuge hut, _he thought, and then, _Or Murtagh and I could cower beneath Thorn's wings for protection. _The thought of the Rider warmed his heart, and for a few minutes walking became easier. But then an ear-splitting thunder called him back to the present, and all of a sudden he was knocked off his feet by some sort of shock wave.

_What on earth...? _Eragon looked up from the mud in time to be blinded by a blue flash, which hit the ground only a few yards away. It took him a while to realize that the noises he heard were his own screams.

Eventually the flash ended and the world went mostly dark again. A lurid spot remained in Eragon's vision, but he accredited it to the aftereffects of having looked into the bright light. However, after he had risen to his feet and had blinked a few times, there was still a light cutting through the darkness.

He turned towards the origin of the bluish glow – and stopped dead. _My stone!_ he thought, dumbfounded, while the rain was running down his face. And yet, even as he thought that, calling the item a stone seemed wrong.

As if drawn by strings he neared what he had once seen in his dream, his breath coming in shallow intervals while his heart was hammering in his chest. The stone – or whatever it was – quickly lost its glow, and when it was no more than a blue, oval item on the forest floor, Eragon deemed it safe enough to extend one hand and make contact.

Nothing happened.

Eragon dropped the rabbits and scooted closer, touching the cool, hard surface with both hands. He realized how the rain not only pattered on his head, but on the _thing_ as well. Overwhelmed by a strong protective instinct, he carefully picked it up and carried it over to a spot beneath a copse of small fir trees. By no means was it a dry spot, but the branches with their fine needles took away the strength of the rain.

For a moment he only pressed the thing to his chest, rocking back and forth. Then he brought it up in front of his face and used the very brief instants of flashes to examine it more closely. _Really, it's not a stone_. _There can't be stones so symmetrical to make a math teacher's heart dance, can there? _At the same time, he did not have a clue what else it could be.

_Let's see. _He turned the un-stony something around to study it from all sides. _It kind of reminds me of the eggs I've collected this morning... _He hesitated. Some birds, he had learned back in elementary school, had bluish eggs, but never of a colour as intense. _And never ever so big! What animal could possibly need such a giant-_

In just the moment that Eragon's eyes went wide with realization, the egg screamed, and he dropped it so rapidly as if it had burned his hands. Eyeing it warily from a little distance, he tried to process what was happening; the egg, however, would not really let him.

Again it screamed, and on its own rolled to the side. During the next flash, Eragon saw how a fine line spread over the surface, followed swiftly by several more. _Oh my! _Now he could not only tell Brom and Murtagh that he had found the egg and that, due to the screaming, it still had to be alive, but instead, he could tell them that it had actually hatched already.

_... Hatched for me?_

With a last sound of protest, one side of the egg collapsed, and Eragon caught the first glimpse of a small blue paw. Too awed to remember breathing, he watched how more and more of the leg became visible, and suddenly, a small head perked round the corner of the broken shell, staring straight at him, and straight into his soul.

Eragon was crying.

Another flash turned the evening into day for an instant, illuminating the little sapphire dragon in all its beauty. At the same time, Eragon realized how vulnerable it was, so he moved closer again, extending both hands. Without hesitation, the dragon left the remnants of the egg and came to meet him. Still moved to tears, he picked the little thing up and cradled it in his arms, sitting down against the stem of a fir and leaning forward to cover the dragon from the wind as good as he could.

What he should do next, he had no idea.

Gently one of his thumbs ran over the lithe body, which had pressed itself into his chest and had stilled. _Like Thorn... and then, not like Thorn at all. _He figured that the soft scales would probably be hard as steel soon enough. "Hmm, baby?" he murmured.

In response to the sounds he made the dragon stirred, nudging Eragon's chin from below. A quiet squeak was barely audible over the rain. "Hmm?" Eragon asked again, shifting so that he could look at the little one, or rather, lose himself in the blue eyes, which stared at him full of curiosity and trust.

"Kind of a bad weather that you chose, don't you think?" he asked in English, before thinking better of it and switching to the common tongue. The dragon cocked his head and listened intently, but made no sign of understanding. Eragon chuckled. "I shouldn't forget how young you are, eh?" Another thunder rolled, and once more his posture became more protective. He pulled at the edges of his cloak to be able to cover all of himself with it, thereby covering the dragon as well.

Once more the little thing nudged him, and Eragon looked inside of the little tent he had created. In the darkness, all he could see were two glimmering eyes. "Could you perhaps nudge me using Morse? Oh no, wait. I don't know any Morse." By the look of it, the dragon was again cocking its head, and a low rumbling reached Eragon's ears. "Are you... are you roaring at me?" He was both amused and concerned. _What do I do now?_ After being stared at for long moments, Eragon heard the rumbling slowly dawned on him. "Are you hungry?"

Although the dragon did not react, Eragon crawled on only three limbs towards the dead rabbits. The free arm kept holding the dragon to his chest, which made his crawling look like that of a deadly wounded person.

Arriving at the rabbits' side, the dragon started squirming. As Eragon deemed it more urgent to feed than to crawl back, he sat down on his heels in the midst of the pouring rain and set the dragon on his thighs. With his knife he roughly skinned one of the rabbits and then cut off tiny pieces of flesh, for a brief moment feeling oddly disrespectful towards the little animal. But then the dragon held open its snout, squeaking in anticipation, and Eragon forgot what had been plaguing him.

With one tiny bit of meat after the next he fed what he spontaneously called his blue miracle, after a while being more than a little surprised at how much fitted into so small a body. The rabbit was nearly gone when the dragon lost its interest. "Whoah!" was all Eragon could think of saying.

Wet and cold he retreated the two of them to the firs, which, he had to learn, were now completely soaked as well. Another nudge guided his attention away from feeling uncomfortable. This time, the dragon touched his hip, which was the closest body part to its snout. "What now?" he asked, leaning down as if that would help understanding.

A tiny tail wrapped itself around the wrist of his right and pulled at it, and even though it was not strong, the intention was obvious. "Do you want me to pet you?" Obediently, Eragon began caressing both scaly top and soft belly – until small but very sharp teeth bit into his hand. "Ouch!" _What, in fate's name, am I supposed to do?_

Unsure about the dragon's wishes, he simply held out the hand in question to be examined. When he stretched it open, a stinging pain in his palm reminded him of his earlier fall. _But if I hadn't fallen, I hadn't gone back... _

A content grunt told him that he had interpreted the current desire correctly. The dragon rose to its feet and stepped closer to his hand, reaching with its snout for the bloody palm.

Then it made contact.

A searing pain like a thousand needles piercing his skin shot from Eragon's hand upward, racing through his veins and all too soon affecting his entire body. His scream matched in intensity those of the dragon hatching. Gasping and panting he fought to remain conscious while his hand burned like fire. "Did you have to hit the gash of all places?" he eventually asked between clenched teeth, although he could not quite explain how so much anguish had come about.

When the pain subsided and his breathing returned to normal, he tore his eyes away from the dragon and looked at his hand – and was immediately gasping again. Had it not been for the creature on his lap, he would have jumped up in shock.

The gash was gone, although that in itself would not have caused much surprise on his part after all the weeks in Alagaësia. Instead of the original gash, however, there now was a new one, formed like a circle, and it was shining fiercely in silver. The pain was gone, but still Eragon's blood was boiling in uproar. The dragon, in turn, seemed utterly pleased with itself.

Only very slowly did Eragon come to understand the full extent of what was happening.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

His teeth were chattering and his feet denying their service when Eragon became truly worried. The dragon, as he constantly checked, was warm and safe, sleeping in his arms, but if Eragon should not be able to go on at one point, the dragon's comfort was endangered. Apart from that, Eragon did not even know whether heading for Carvahall was the right thing to do, but it was the only place he could think of to turn to for protection.

But then, he had no idea of how to make it to Carvahall in the first place.

After recovering from the shock of being marked a Rider, he had fed the remnants of the rabbit to the dragon and bound the other dead prey to his belt. Then, through the thickest of storms, he had set out into the night, having no clue whatsoever whether he was able to follow a roughly northern direction. Finding his way with no path would have been hard under the best of circumstances. Now, it was pure hell.

When going further did not promise any success whatsoever, he stopped at the side of yet another hill, after some time finding sparse shelter beneath an overhanging rock. He had lost all sense of time, and, although he was afraid to admit it, all sense of direction as well. Imagining that Murtagh would likely agree with the tactic of staying in one place and saving strength only reassured him for a fleeting moment. _And what do I save my strength for if I have completely strayed afar? _

He pinched the bridge of his nose to get rid it of any dark thoughts. _I'm going to save strength to protect my little miracle, no matter-_

"Eragon?"

Eragon jumped up at mutedly hearing Brom through the rain. This woke the dragon, which made a noise close to a yelp. "Here!"

Brom was considerably closer when he called again. "Eragon?"

"Here!" The dragon craned its neck expectantly.

A figure became visible to Eragon's left. "Are you hurt?"

Eragon briefly looked at his hand, but the _gedwëy ignasia _had faded. "I'm fine!" he called. "Only cold." He threw his cloak to cover the dragon, which protested rather heavily, aiming to bite Eragon's fingers through the fabric. "Eragon!" Brom arrived in front of him, looking both alarmed and angry. "Why didn't you do as I told you to?" Trying to hold still despite the miniature devil raging so close to his body, Eragon's planned explanation sounded more like a badly executed apology. "I… argh… I wanted to see whether… uhh… in the sling there, the one next to the one hill… _Don't!_... there was a rabbit. In fact, there was, but then… _No!_... the storm broke, and-"

"Eragon!" The frown on Brom's forehead had deepened dangerously. "There was a reason why I told you to go straight back home!" he hollered. "And what's that you're hiding?"

_I hope he has a strong heart._ "I found something… No, I think something found me." Eragon pulled at his cloak, pulling the dragon along who had sunk its teeth firmly into the thick cloth.

A yell escaped Brom, and for a moment he was frozen into a statue, thunderstruck. Several times he reached out with one hand, but pulled it back every time. His eyes darted back and forth between dragon and future Rider, and suddenly his expression went very soft. "The egg?" he asked hoarsely after some time. "You found the egg?"

Eragon shrugged, gathering the now peaceful dragon back into his arms. _All this terror only for finding out who has come?_ The dragon croaked."Just when I figured out what the blue thing was, this little thing here happened." Imagining how he would be telling this Murtagh one day, too, sent his heart hammering again and his mind was full of his love. _God almighty! How's he going to react?_

As if noticing the abrupt change in his thoughts, the dragon looked up at him, squealing quietly.

"_This happened_?" Brom picked up his words. "Eragon!" A disbelieving smile made him look a lot younger. "You… this… do you understand?"

Eragon's right stopped petting the dragon and his only answer was holding it out, palm upwards.

Brom understood, and probably did so on a far greater scale than Eragon. From one moment to the next, he was very businesslike. "The thunder might have stopped rolling, but we need to get you out of the rain and wind. No one will see us in the night. Come, follow me!" He strode off to the south.

Eragon willed his numb legs to move and stumbled after Brom. "We aren't going to Carvahall," he stated.

"No," Brom confirmed, throwing him a look and the dragon an even longer one. "We have to keep this a secret." Suddenly he laughed out loud. "This is wonderful! We have a new Rider!"

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Will's farm, Eragon noticed on entering, was a rather nice one – it had a first floor. With the instruction to take off all wet clothes, Brom immediately sent him upstairs. Tired and exhausted Eragon mounted the stairs at a snail's pace, all of his attention on not letting the dragon fall.

He pushed open a door to his left, finding a room almost empty except for a simple bedstead with some straw in it, a footstool, and a coarse blanket. He put the dragon down on the bed and peeled off the clothes sticking to his body. The shimmering eyes staring at his exposed body was rather disconcerting, but he was too worn out to care much. He grabbed the blanket and lay down next to the dragon, inviting it to the warmth his body provided. The moment he closed his eyes, he was fast asleep.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Wonderfully warm from head to toe, Eragon woke, lying on his back. Through closed eyelids he perceived sunlight, which was a positively received contrast to the dark and stormy night.

_Stormy__…_ Something stirred in the back of his mind.

_The storm… _

… _The dragon!_

His eyes flew open and he stared right into the little predator's face. His yell caused the dragon on his chest to topple backwards and off his body, and only just in time did Eragon catch it from falling off the bed as well. "Sorry, baby!" he said and sat up straight, placing the dragon in front of him. "Have you been staring at me, he?"

Croak.

"Like what you've seen?"

Croak.

Eragon laughed. "Right answer!" He briefly scanned the room and found it as empty as he had suspected the previous night in the dark. "Oh well, better than the cold forest, right?" This time, it was his stomach answering him. He looked at the dragon again. "Are you hungry as well?"

Croak.

"You first." Eragon crawled out of bed and tiptoed over to his clothes, but found them damp and cold and decided otherwise. In nothing but his birthday's suit he tiptoed further to where he had dropped the rabbit, wrinkling his nose at finding flies in the lifeless eyes. "Eww." Touching it as little as possible, he carried it back to the bed, where he realized that in order to feed, he had to go into closer contact with the rabbit after all.

Once the dragon was done eating, Eragon wrapped himself into the blanket, forming some sort of large skirt, and headed for the door to wash his hands and find himself something to eat as well. The dragon, however, on realizing that Eragon was leaving the room, made a leap off the bed and came running after him, falling once or twice. But every time it was back on its feet in an instant, its focus never once leaving the human. Surrendering with a smile, Eragon picked it up with one hand when it reached him. "Just don't watch me when I have to pee, okay?"

Keeping a tight grip on both dragon and his skirt he made his way down, finding the main room to be as bare as the one he had slept in; only the most basic furniture like a table, a long bench, and several stools were present, crowded around a fireplace. Brom was nowhere to be seen, but that did not come as much of a surprise. Last night he had told Eragon that he would go back and raid his house the moment the storm lessened to gather all he deemed necessary for them to live at the farm.

Eragon opened the door and carefully peeped out before stepping outside. It was early morning still, and the air was crisp and cold, sending goose bumps down his exposed skin. Standing in the farmyard, the road was not to be seen, and if the vagabonds Brom had threatened away the other day were truly gone, he should be safe for the moment. Or rather, the dragon was safe from any unwanted eyes. Eragon realized that he himself felt entirely secure, trusting his own abilities more than ever before. _That's nice for a change!_

He set the dragon down, encouraging it to walk on its own, and made his way to a water pump close to what looked like abandoned stables. With sand he scrubbed his hands clean – and raw – and then splashed the cold water into his face and on his chest, snorting. The dragon arrived at his feet, protesting at the occasional drop of water dripping down, but at the same time openly curious about the clear liquid.

When Eragon was done and meant to turn around, the dragon squeaked and nudged the water trough at its side. "Want to bathe as well?" Chuckling, Eragon picked it up and set it in the trough, then used the pump to fill more water into the basin.

Apparently, it was just what was wanted for a good day's start.

Grunting and squealing the dragon moved through the narrow trough, then slowly treaded backwards until there was enough room to walk forwards again. For the first time ever Eragon saw it spread its wings, which stuck out over the sides of the basin. He stepped close and extended a hand to touch them, and after a surprised jerk the dragon stood still, watching over its shoulder how he stroked the thin membranes between the fragile looking wing bones. _Wow! So soft! _"Beautiful!"

Soon they went inside again. Eragon was too concerned about anyone spotting his miracle – and too hungry. To his dismay, the farm was bereft of anything edible. _I should have known, though... _His stomach continuing to rumble in protest he went upstairs again, grabbed his clothes, and hurried outside to set them to dry in the sun and wind. He was so quick that the dragon had made it just to the doorstep when he returned.

Not much later Brom returned, announcing his presence from far away already. Driven by his hunger, Eragon ignored his ridiculous attire and went to meet him, the dragon on his heels. "You brought the horses!" he cheered when he caught sight of the newcomers.

"You brought a dragon!" Brom laughed. "You two had a good night?"

"We did." Eragon grabbed the horses' reins and caressed the spot behind their ears as he done countless times before, as always receiving content snorts in return. "I missed you," he murmured, meaning it. With skilled hands he helped Brom unsaddle them and then carried inside what the other had brought. Once the horses had found a home in the stables, the men settled down at the table in the main building, Eragon's eyes going wide at the food Brom unpacked.

Eragon had been eating for a while when he noticed that Brom's plate was still untouched and the wise blue eyes were fixed on the dragon, which Eragon had lifted on the bench next to him. "Is something... not right?" he asked tentatively, a piece of bread suddenly stuck in his throat.

Brom smiled. "The egg hatched and we have a new Rider! Meaning no disrespect, but I'm not sure that you understand all that this means. I..." He swallowed. "I cannot explain what this means to me."

Eragon reached out to take one old hand into his. "You're probably right. I know so little of this world and of the war... but I know that this little miracle here," he looked at the dragon, "this wonderful, breathtaking miracle, is... everything now." An image of Murtagh flashed through his mind. "Well, maybe almost. But alone as I am at the moment, it _is_ everything."

"You're a Rider," was all Brom said to this. Then he cleared his throat and nodded his head in the direction of the dragon. "Has she eaten yet?"

Eragon choked on the water he was drinking. "_She_?"

Brom chuckled. "You didn't know?"

Dumbfounded, Eragon shook his head, turning to the dragon. "You're a female?"

The dragon only stared back at him, her eyes unreadable.

"How do you know?" Eragon asked Brom without looking at him.

"She looks like one... she looks like my dragon did."

"Oh." Eragon reached out and stroked the dragon's head. "My little girl," he whispered. Then, louder, "Yes, she has eaten."

"Good." Brom finally started eating as well. "Listen, Eragon. I need you to understand how crucial it is for us to hide her."

_Of course it is! _"I know."

"News of this will have a sweeping impact on Alagaësia, a devastating- You know?" Brom stopped chewing.

Eragon shrugged. "I don't have well worded reasons like you do, but… I know. Remember how I hid her from you at first?"

Slowly Brom nodded. "You did. It's… that is good."

"It's only natural. What about the villagers?"

"Madge saw me this morning. I told her we would spend time outside of Carvahall, and asked her to take any messages meant for me. She is used to this," Brom explained. "She knows that in cases like these I want to be left alone. Moreover, she'll take care of my animals."

"Good."

When they were done with breakfast, Brom rose to his feet, mumbled something like "See to the horses" and headed for the door.

_Huh__? _"Brom?" Taken by surprise at the abrupt leave-taking, Eragon watched the other in bewilderment, hearing the dragon croak likewise bewildered.

The older man turned around, his eyes shining proudly when his gaze graced dragon and Rider. "Bonding is a process for two, not for three. I'll be around today, but shall not bother you with my presence."

"What?" Eragon exchanged a long glance with the dragon, feeling reassured although she had not given a visible sign of communication. "You won't bother us."

"But-"

"We have already bonded, Brom."

His hand on the door latch, Brom hesitated. "What do you mean?"

The dragon moved closer to Eragon and nudged him until he picked her up, then she looked at Brom and croaked. Eragon was laughing. "We _are_ bonded. Stay, please."

Still hesitating, Brom's hand at least left the door. "Well... what do you want me to do instead?"

Again Eragon exchanged a look with his dragon, and again was certain of her answer. _I agree, _he thought, smiling. "Tell us more about dragons... and their Riders!"

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"Someone's coming! Quick, hide upstairs!"

Eragon, fully dressed by now, jumped up and mounted the stairs as quietly as possible, pressing the dragon to his chest. When he arrived on the first floor, he threw a glance back down and saw Brom take a deep breath, his expression going from that of an emotion-driven storyteller to the cautious one of an experienced warrior. It did not exactly make Eragon feel any better.

Once he was in his room, he heard Brom open the door and step outside. Setting the dragon down to the floor, he sneaked to the window looking out on the farmyard. His cover behind the big crossbar was not the best, but not knowing what was going on was unthinkable. Briefly he glanced back at the alert dragon, wishing it would not make any noise, but then the sound of footsteps outside diverted his attention.

A small group of people came running into the yard from the east, the direction of the road. Brom met them halfway to the stable, radiating an aura of calm. _Villagers,_ Eragon's mind explained the newly presents. _Agitated villagers! _There were a total of six people, all men, who looked like they had run most of the way from Carvahall to the farm. All of them carried an item of their craft, be it a hammer or a pitchfork. _Formidable weapons, _Eragon recognized immediately.

He strained his hearing, but still missed the first part of what they were telling Brom as they were all talking at the same time and gesturing wildly. Brom seemed equally overwhelmed. Only when after a while one of the men declared himself spokesman and all fell quiet was Eragon able to understand what was going on.

"We've come to warn you," the well-built man with the hammer said.

Brom nodded. "I thank you, Merco. Of what danger?"

"We think it is Murtagh!"

Brom's eyebrows shot up. "Murtagh?"

_Murtagh?_ Eragon's heart went from zero to sixty – in less than a second.

"A man – a _demon_ – came to Carvahall, heading for your house." All nodded. "He fitted the descriptions."

Brom shook his head. "Unlikely. Murtagh is too dearly needed elsewhere to come looking for someone like me."

A roundly man spoke up. "All those stories you tell us, Brom... Maybe they have reached the wrong ears."

Only now Eragon realized that to the people here, Brom's past was unknown. _Good that I didn't let his true identity slip yesterday..._

"It _was_ Murtagh," insisted the roundly man.

Brom remained sceptical. "Really?"

Again all nodded, causing a shiver of anticipation to run down Eragon's back. _Murtagh is here! _Involuntarily, his eyes darted around from bush to shack to tree, but he could not make out the beloved shape. _He won't come without seeing me, will he? _

"You have to flee," the man with the hammer urged. "People he comes looking for don't survive. Flee, Brom!"

Brom, however, only laughed. Eragon immediately heard that it was false, but it seemed as if the villagers did not notice. "Flee?" the former Rider asked. "No! I thank you very much for warning me, and for worrying about me, but there's no need."

All six men piped up, but Brom reassured them with his arms stretched out wide. "If it is indeed Murtagh then let him come. I'm not afraid of demons, nor am I afraid of Riders."

"Well..." The man with the hammer was clearly surprised and somewhat impressed by this decision. "Do you... do you want us to stay? He's a mighty warrior!"

"No!" Brom said a little too fiercely. Tuning his voice down, he explained, "For you, however, it is a risk, even for your families it is a risk. Please, leave me alone. With your warning, I shall be prepared to meet whoever is coming... I'm not helpless."

"Maybe we _should_ leave," a man with a spade proposed quietly, throwing scared looks over his shoulder. "It's none of our business."

"Go!" Brom encouraged them. "Don't worry about me. I thank you for the warning."

For some, this was all they needed and they turned around and hurried away. The man with the hammer, however, lingered some longer, but eventually Brom convinced him as well and he hastened to catch up with the others.

Brom turned around and looked straight into Eragon's eyes. Silently his mouth formed the order 'Stay!', then he followed the men in some distance.

Tired of being left alone on the floor, the dragon suddenly started squeaking, and Eragon dove down and put a hand around its snout. "Please," he whispered, "please be quiet, little dragon." He did not take any risks and left his hand where it was. "I think Murtagh is coming," he explained to keep the dragon's interest on him. "Murtagh! But you don't know what that means, do you? He's my lov-" Shuffling feet had him shut up and sneak to the window once more, this time taking the dragon along to keep her quiet.

Brom had returned to the yard and scanned the surroundings. "They're gone!" he called in no particular direction. "Won't come back, either!"

Nothing happened.

_Murtagh?_ Eragon's heart missed a beat. _What if it wasn't him after all?_

Again Brom made eye contact with him, this time motioning for Eragon to come down. Releasing the dragon's snout, Eragon obeyed and rushed down the stairs. "Murtagh?" he croaked when he met Brom in the main room. His head was full of other questions, but this was the one word he trusted his vocal chords with.

Brom nodded and reached for a mug. "Seems like it. I cannot explain, however, what drove him here, or how he might have-" He was interrupted by a violent knock on the door.

His legs all of a sudden too weak to carry his body, Eragon sat down on the lowest step of the staircase, dragon on his lap.

Cautiously, Brom went for the door. The second he opened it, the tip of a sword pressed into his throat.

"Where is he?" came a very angry low voice from outside.

_Murtagh! _In a complete disregard of the threat that Brom was facing, Eragon started to cry out of joy. The dragon watched him with interest and then pushed herself up with her front paws against his chest to examine the tears, even catching one with her tongue.

"Put... the... sword... down," Brom said. "He's here."

"Hurt?" Murtagh asked, leaving his blade exactly where it was. Only his shadow was visible from inside.

_Murtagh!_ Eragon crooned in his thoughts. _Murtagh has come!_

"No," Brom said through clenched teeth.

"Why did you take him away?"

"Murtagh, I-"

"No!" Murtagh's voice held even more hostility now. "I told you to-"

"...keep me safe!" Eragon finished the sentence, calling it even, when he finally realized how agitated Murtagh was.

Like a whirlwind the warrior rushed inside. "Era-" He spotted Eragon and the dragon – and froze in shock. His eyes went wider than Eragon had ever seen before.

"Murtagh," Eragon only said, his emotions temporarily setting his brain on strike. "You... you are back." _You're back,_ his heart repeated, and then it began chanting._ You're back, you're back!_

Very slowly one of Murtagh's arms came up and pointed at Eragon, but then it dropped down lifeless while an inscrutable sound left his mouth.

Eragon's tears ran dry while he was watching the most glorious and handsome Rider lose control over his body and make yet another funny noise. "I found the egg," he stated the obvious, smiling.

Murtagh only nodded, and immediately after shook his head. Then the little dragon made its universal croak, which tore Murtagh out of his stupor. He made an apologetic gesture in Brom's direction – for being so angry earlier, Eragon guessed – then made his way to a stool and sank down as if deadly exhausted. "You," was all he said.

"I," Eragon confirmed, amused by what he was seeing. "I," he said again, then put the dragon down on the stairs and walked over to the other.

Apparently, Murtagh's body was in better charge of itself than when he tried controlling it with his mind. Automatically he rose to meet Eragon and pulled him first into a hug and then into a kiss. This, however, was _not_ automatic at all, but passionate and intense, as if he had to convince himself that it truly was the young man he had once found in the woods. "You're the new Rider," he whispered, the words somewhere between a statement and a question.

"One day I will be," Eragon corrected with a chuckle, looking down at his small dragon that had made her way to his side.

Murtagh's glance followed his and he swallowed. "_Kvertha, skulblaka!_" But, Eragon noticed, just as Brom had done, Murtagh made no move to touch her.

Brom audibly cleared his throat, and Eragon and Murtagh both made a step back and away from each other. The old man looked rather bemused. "If the gentlemen will accept a drink..." he said ironically, walking over to where they kept their food.

"Brom, I'm sorry!" Murtagh apologized properly. "I thought you wanted to hide him from me." He moved to help, but was stopped with a gesture.

"I've lived through worse. You were only concerned for your... _friend_, after all."

Murtagh grimaced and Eragon blushed. "Brom..." he began.

The former Rider had placed three mugs on the table and invited them to sit down. "No need to explain. Now the 'dark and light unite' part of the prophecy makes sense."

"That part has been clear for a while," Murtagh said, hazel eyes twinkling at Eragon. "But the dragon! The Rider!" He shook his head. "I can't believe- I've been _so_ blind!"

Eragon only looked from Murtagh to Brom to the dragon and to Murtagh again and could not stop smiling. _ I must look damn stupid, _a part of his mind told him, but he could not care less.

Brom poured the content of a big leather skin into their mugs and raised his. Murtagh sniffed, and a smile broke free. "Wine it is now?"

"I think it is about time." Yet Brom paused with the mug in midair, and both younger men followed his example and likewise waited with their drink. "Well, I stole the egg..." Brom eventually began, fixing his eyes on Murtagh, who frowned.

"I know you did. Why do you mention- Ah." Murtagh smiled. "You stole the egg... and I found the Rider! Cheers!"

_Whatever, _Eragon only thought, _now it's me and the dragon, that's all that matters! _Very atypically, he finished his share almost in one go, leaving behind a small amount which he offered his dragon. By the look on her face, she did not like it, so Eragon reached out with his right to pet her and make peace. At the same time, his left found Murtagh's right.

Smiling even more, the older one interlaced their fingers.

"Did I hear Thorn a moment ago," Brom asked into the silence.

Murtagh tore his eyes away from Eragon. "He's close, but will leave in a moment – the danger of being spotted is too great. He'll return later tonight once it's safe."

Brom listened again, and now Eragon heard it, too. "Is he... laughing?" Brom asked.

"Madly," Murtagh confirmed.

Eragon found his voice. "Why?"

Murtagh's mouth curled up in a crooked smile. "He's laughing at _me._"

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"Shh!"

"_You_ are the one making noises, Rider," Murtagh whispered.

Eragon grunted. "Don't call me that! I'm more of a Carrier at the mom- _Ahhh_. Do that again!"

Obediently Murtagh moved as instructed, drawing a prolonged moan from a trembling Eragon. "Tell me one more time that _I_ need to be quiet," he commented dryly, a chuckle only barely suppressed.

_Shit! _"I'm trying! It's only... I don't want to wake her."

Murtagh stilled. "Wake her?" Suddenly he laughed out loud, the dark voice booming in the little room until Eragon pressed a hand to his mouth.

"Be quiet!"

"E-a-on," Murtagh mumbled, then pushed the hand way. "I'm sorry to tell you, but... she _is_ awake, and has been for some time."

"_What_?" Forgetting about Murtagh, Eragon leaned down the side of the bed to where his dragon was curled up in a box with straw. _What is she going to think of me?_ "Hey, little dragon."

One blue eye opened, watched him lazily, and fell shut again.

"Eragon, let her sleep."

Caressing the smooth scales, Eragon murmured, "Only a moment ago you said that she wasn't sleeping..."

"She's trying, though. Come back to me!"

Eragon shook his head, alluring as the idea was with his whole body screaming out for Murtagh. "This is the fifth time we're having sex, but only the second night with her."

Murtagh sighed and rolled to his side and half on top of the other, conveniently burying himself in Eragon while doing so. "Let me tell you a secret," he whispered , nibbling at the lobe of an ear. "Dragons want their Riders to be happy..."

"Oh." Eragon's hand was still on his dragon while the rest of him already pushed back, deepening the contact with Murtagh. "In every respect?" he asked quietly.

"In every respect."

"Oh." _Well then!_ Eragon turned his head back to Murtagh and smiled. "In that case... Make me happy!"

Murtagh immediately stopped his slow and sensuous thrusts. "But you already are happy!" he pointed out innocently.

"Murtagh!" Eragon half scolded, half protested before breaking into a subdued laughter. "You're _so_ mean!"

"You like it..."

"I love it!"

The meeting of lips and tongues prevented any further distracting conversation.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Eragon woke when his shoulder was shaken rather violently. "Hurry!" he heard Murtagh urge him, and while he was still wondering just when he had fallen asleep and why Murtagh woke him in the middle of the night, his dragon squealed in excitement, and he was wide awake in an instant.

Murtagh's marked hand was glowing in a bright red, lightening the room, and he was dressing rapidly while the dragon scurried around his legs, her wings dragging over the floor. When Eragon sat up, she stopped moving and focused on him, squealing again.

"What's going on?" Eragon asked, alarmed, trying to catch up with Murtagh's state of dressing.

Murtagh chuckled quietly. "Don't panic!"

"You two are making it dramatic!"

Murtagh leaned over and stole a kiss, one thumb resting on Eragon's cheek and making him pause in his movements. "We're only eager."

"Why?"

"Listen!"

Eragon did, but for a moment he only heard Murtagh's and his breathing and the light footsteps of his dragon, which had begun pacing around again. Then a faint roar reached his ears. _Thorn!_ He turned around to the window and looked out into a moonlit night. Far to his right, just barely in his field of vision, he saw a patch of flaming red behind the trees. "Hurry!"

He jumped off the bed and grabbed his dragon, then led the way down the stairs and outside. "Are you excited?" he asked the scaly centre of his universe more than once, and received a thrilled croak as an answer every single time.

In no time they had passed the yard and entered the forest, the blue dragon more nervous by the second and piercing Eragon's shirt and skin with her claws. "She didn't understand what we told her earlier, did she?"

"Err... how should she, Eragon?"

_Right. _Eragon blushed a little in the darkness. "I don't know. Some things that I tell her she understands... or, well, I think she does."

"Certainly." Murtagh laughed at Eragon's sceptical look. "Emotions she probably picks up from you right away, but to process our language she will need some time. At least that's how it was with Thorn. Speaking of whom..."

They arrived at the clearing Thorn had chosen and fell quiet, even the female dragon only stared for a while without making a sound.

In the moonlight, the red lizard was striking as never before. His scales and eyes were glimmering unusually bright in the silver glow, and his aura was more powerful than Eragon had ever experienced before. The giant tail flicked from one side to the right, displaying with how little effort so many strong muscles were moved.

_Did I __just never notice, or do I now see dragons differently? _Eragon had no idea.

He looked over to Murtagh and his breath caught in his throat. On the one hand, the Rider looked similarly striking in the soft light as his dragon did, an epitome of attraction. On the other hand, however, Eragon again wondered whether he had never paid enough attention before – the look of utter pride and love which Murtagh was granting his dragon were new to him. "You love him," he realized.

Murtagh tore his gaze away and smiled at him. "Of course I do!"

Again Eragon blushed, fortunately saved from explaining himself by his dragon. She squirmed and squealed and he quickly put her down, watching with some concern how the cat-sized baby stormed towards the plane-sized predator. It got worse when Thorn went to greet the newborn with a thunderous roar and huge flame.

"Stop _fretting_!" Murtagh hugged him from behind and for a moment covered his eyes with one hand. "They'll be fine!"

In no time Eragon had freed his head, but when mouse and elephant dragon did no more than sniffing at each other with Thorn's huge head down on ground level, he relaxed a little.

"See?"

Thorn breathed another flame that safely missed the other dragon by yards. This elicited an excited croak on part of the female, which, in turn, produced the tiniest imaginable column of smoke.

"Murtagh! Did you see that?" Eragon's chest went tight.

"She's beautiful!"

"Smoke! She made smoke!"

"She's a dragon," Murtagh pointed out, but then bit his lip. "I'm sorry. You're only too cute – as is she!"

Eragon had not really heard. "I just... It's hard to imagine she'll be big as Thorn one day, with his strength, the fire and such. It's so hard to imagine to _ride_ her one day... Do you know what I mean?"

Murtagh nodded. "I do." And then he said what Eragon thought were the best words of the day: "I guess I'll have to stay for a while, then, to see all of that happening..."

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"Murtagh..." Eragon picked up conversation again some time later. They had sat down on a small heap, holding hands and watching their dragons imitate each other's actions, be it spreading their wings, flicking their tails, or roaring. The little dragon's attempts at the last were both ridiculous and hilarious.

"Hmm?"

"Do you remember what I once said? I mean, what I said about helping you?"

"Aye. But you don't want to know what I was thinking back then."

Eragon chuckled. "Now that you mention it..."

Murtagh chuckled as well, even though Eragon thought he saw a faint red tinge on the other's cheeks. "I liked you already well enough, but figured you were such an unimportant someone to the matters of this world that I shouldn't waste too much time on you..." His chuckle had died and he grimaced. "I feel so bad, Eragon, _so_ bad."

Eragon waved a hand dismissingly in the air. "I've had my fair share of unfriendly thoughts as well. But _do_ you remember what I said?"

The little dragon had made its way over to them, followed like a shadow by her gigantic new friend. Now she stopped in front of Murtagh, who slowly extended a hand, inviting her to examine it. "Yes."

"I still mean it."

The dragon was sniffing along Murtagh's arm, causing a wide smile on his lips, but nevertheless he looked up and at Eragon. "It won't be easy."

"I know."

"It'll be dangerous." The smile was fading.

"I know."

Murtagh swallowed. "It might be only us at times. We'll have to stand loyal to each other – always. There will be so many risks..." His eyes clearly showed how he would rather keep Eragon away from those.

"I am with you, Murtagh!" _Forever, always. I love you!_

Murtagh tilted his head to the side. "For better or worse?"

"For better or worse!"


	17. Epilogue: Where thou art, that is home

**A/N:** Notice the date! A good nine months have passed since the last chapter.

_…_ And now it's truly over. I'm _so_ sad, actually – I had a great time writing this! Lots of ups and downs, true, lots of frustration at times, but looking back, joy and pride prevail.

* * *

**Where thou art, that is home - ****Emily Dickinson**

**Epilogue**

2nd Hay moon

* * *

The air was shimmering over the ground, and there was no wind to disperse the heat. Breathing became a hard task for any living creature on the sandy fields of the northern Hardarac Desert.

"Milord, they're almost there!" the soldier urged, a trickle of sweat running down his hairline. He was in his best years and had a lot of experience, but apparently, the approaching army accompanied by the powerful blue Rider was too much for him to remain calm.

_Eragon!_ Murtagh thought, sweating just like the soldier. _You've grown…_ "Are the archers ready?"

"Of course, sir!"

_Who is going to lead __our army to battle? _Thorn was resting some distance behind the front of the Empire army, watching the opposite host lazily. _There truly is a lot of little Varden today, isn't there?_

_More than ever, _Murtagh agreed. _They'll cost us dearly. Look at Eragon and Saphira!_

Thorn sighed. _She's so beautiful. _

_And mighty! Are you well rested, my friend?_

_Enough to face her! But answer my question: Who will lead our force? Grall?_

_Who else?_ A picture of the captain of his guard sprang up in Murtagh's mind. _He's got all that is needed: a proper head on top of his shoulders, authority, and skill. Things that most of the assembled nobles are lacking._

_Are they going to accept that, though?_

_I'll tell them to._ Murtagh looked out at the other army that had come to a stop about two leagues away. He tried to do some logical thinking concerning last-minute-tactics, but then Saphira caught his eye again, and he chose to pass the problems on. _Stunning!_

_Your friends are coming…_

_Thorn! _With the lightest pressure of a leg Murtagh forced Tornac to turn to the right, facing a handful of influential men who were usually at odds with each other but now united by the call of their king and their mutual dislike of the Varden. Their faces were torn in concern.

"Murtagh, sir," the Lord of Feinster opened conversation. "Any moment now Eragon will lead them into battle!"

Murtagh sneered and sat up a little more straight. Some continuously defied him the proper greeting. "Afraid, Burdo?" he asked back, taking the freedom to leave out any title at all.

Feinster grimaced, but vehemently shook his head. "All of us…" he included the nobles present with a gesture "… are convinced that their forces are stronger than ever – as is that little boy on his dragon. Our army cannot face a Shur'tugal!"

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that I cannot handle him?" _Dare to agree, fat man…_

"No!" Feinster's younger brother hurried to assure. "No, the opposite is the case! Only you, milord, are capable of fighting him – to win over him – and so we have come to ask you- Uff!" He was cut short by his brother's elbow to his rips.

"You need to fight him!" Feinster said, in the last instant lowering his tone from order to request. "Fight and distract him, make sure he's as far away from our forces as possible. Then we can deal their army a painful blow."

_They're so blind_. Thorn rose to his feet and shook out his legs. _Have they truly not seen how Eragon and Saphira have heartened the Varden, have given them spirit? Or don't they want to see it? _

_I guess it's both. _"I _know_ that I have to protect our army from him," Murtagh said as if lecturing a child.

"Very well!" Feinster straightened up. "Then I'll lead our men to victory!"

Murtagh smirked. "But it won't be you who's in charge," he said with his voice bittersweet. "I already appointed Grall."

When Feinster's face fell for a moment, and all others except his brother smiled, Murtagh knew he had guessed right concerning any other intention the Lord might possibly have. _Idiot!_

At that moment, horns were ringing on the Varden's side of the battlefield. Saphira roared out both anger and eagerness. The rebel army started moving again.

Immediately Grall cried out an order, and a shiver ran through the thousands of people surrounding Murtagh. One after the other they began hammering their swords to their shields, or their spears to the ground. When the rhythm became faster, an ear deafening thunder of screams set in, accompanying the hammering. The Empire was answering the battle call.

Despite the summer heat, every patch of Murtagh's skin was covered in goose bumps, and he felt his heart beat along the war drumming. Tornac reared.

Then Saphira leaped off the ground and rose above the Varden army, and the Empire host fell quiet. Murmur ran through the lines. Terrified murmur.

Murtagh's breath caught in his throat watching the distant dragon – and watching the small figure on her back. With a nod to the nobles he slid off his horse and jogged over to Thorn, who was shaking in anticipation. _We're coming! _Murtagh called out mentally into the air surrounding them, although only the magicians in the vicinity could hear him. It did not bother him. This thought, together with his smile, would only be interpreted as impatience to meet the other Rider in battle.

Within seconds they were in the air and soaring over their army, which was cheering them on, gathering new courage. Both Thorn and Murtagh, however, were focused solely on their counterparts and did not pay much attention to anything else.

Higher and higher they rose, out of the reach of any enemy spellcaster, then Thorn increased his speed and raced towards Saphira, who was doing likewise and came to meet them.

When Murtagh was finally able to make out Eragon's face, he was so excited that he nearly forgot to ready a spell. Only in the last instant did he cast a shield around Thorn and himself, which warded off the first powerful blue bolt of magic.

Screeching and roaring Thorn and Saphira crashed into each other.

Claws were extended and were looking for soft spots, spells were loosened to breach any gaps in the other Rider's defenses. Soon swords were drawn and Zar'roc met Brisingr in a shower of sparks.

The fight was a matter of life and death – or at least, it was supposed to look like one.

Locked in their struggle, both Saphira and Thorn aimed for the north. In no time at all, the outskirts of the desert were replaced by the first trees of Du Weldenvarden, and the furious wing beats swiftly carried them further and further over the territory of the elves.

All of a sudden, Saphira stopped, hanging in midair and breathing heavily. Eragon was likewise exhausted, but grinning widely. "I'd say we've come far enough!" he called.

Murtagh threw a glance back. Not even with magic were the armies detectable in the distance. An answering smile made its way to his mouth. "Good!" _Eragon!_

Thorn and Saphira closed the distance between their heads and gently rubbed their snouts – which, in dragon terms, did not exclude the use of generous amounts of fire. _She says today, _Thorn remarked absentmindedly.

The smile was immediately wiped off Murtagh's face and he swallowed hard. _So soon?_

_You delayed forever!_ Thorn immediately defended her._ And don't forget that she's even closer to him than you are!_

_You're right, Thorn, you're right. _"I want to show you something!" Murtagh called to Eragon, whose eyes were burning with a blue fire that rivaled his magic. Like a candle lit in the dark, Murtagh's heart answered with an equally strong fire.

He felt horrible.

_Just enjoy the day, _Thorn advised, doing exactly that.

_I love him!_

_I know. _

Sure and swift Saphira and Thorn flew further north. In fragments, Eragon told Murtagh of his past weeks, while Murtagh's throat was too tight to answer. Every time that Eragon mentioned how much he had missed the other, Murtagh's heart fluttered, and he could only nod. _Every moment you missed me, I missed you ten times more, _he thought miserably, keeping his mind closed to his dragon.

When the burning sun passed the zenith, Eragon began twitching around in the saddle. Murtagh could tell by the other's face that the younger one communicated with his dragon, but apparently, Saphira would not provide the desired answers. So Eragon turned to him. "Where _are_ we going, Murtagh? We haven't even said properly hello yet!"

"A lake," Murtagh called back – it was part of the truth, after all. "I figured some cold water would be nice."

Eragon studied him skeptically for a moment, but then only shrugged. Murtagh knew that being constantly in command and responsible for so many people was still hard on the other; whenever he was with Murtagh, he made no secret of loving to give up control, of simply being seventeen again for some precious hours. Or, if they were lucky, days.

Soon the silvery surface of a vast lake came into view, dismissing all grumpy looks on Eragon's part, his expression giving way to excitement – and far too soon a mischievous smile aimed at Murtagh.

_Oh, no!_ Too late Murtagh realized what was awaiting him before the cool wetness. _No, Thorn! No!_

_Hmm?_ Thorn asked innocently, while already gathering himself like a mountain lion before the jump.

A long look of large blue eyes over a scaly shoulder told Murtagh that Saphira was well aware of the situation as well. He would swear she enjoyed it, too. Cursing loud enough for all to hear, he gave in to his fate.

With a roar no less impressing than her whole appearance, Saphira dove down towards the water, a laughing and cheering Eragon on her back. Immediately Thorn followed swift, already making the first spiral turns. Briefly after, he drew a giant burning circle into the sky with breathing fire throughout flying a looping. Polite enough to let Saphira go first most of the time, Thorn was too much of a male dragon not to show off his immense flight skills nonetheless.

Within moments, Murtagh had to suppress his half-digested breakfast leaving his bowels again. _Enough, Thorn! _

He could as well have spoken to a mountain.

Saphira, half as impressed with Thorn as the red dragon wanted her to be, was now displaying her own skills as well. Her lighter body allowed her to let individual maneuvers follow each other quicker than Thorn could – provoking the older dragon to show even more spectacular twists and turns instead.

For a short time, Murtagh wanted to die. Then he heard Eragon's jubilant cries, and his misery was pushed back. He concentrated on the other's utmost happiness, trying to convince his body that there was nothing to feel bad about. His stomach would not listen, though.

Faster and faster they neared the surface of the lake, but with Thorn's radical ups and downs, it was not fast enough.

Just before the red dragon hit the water, Murtagh lost control and emptied his stomach over himself, over the saddle, even over some part of Thorn. Only then did the water come to his aid, stopping their fall and washing him clean. _Blast it!_ he cursed feebly. _Blast you, Thorn!_

Thorn only laughed and dove some longer.

When they finally emerged from the depths of the lake, Saphira and Eragon were already there, the young Rider having freed himself from the saddle, laughing just like Thorn. With long, elegant movements he swam towards Murtagh, who was a little dizzy and kept afloat by his dragon.

"Did you throw up?" Eragon asked when he arrived at Murtagh's side, with steady hands helping Murtagh's shaky ones to loosen the strips of leather that tied Murtagh to Thorn. "No, don't answer! I saw it!" He was laughing again.

"Hush!" Murtagh protested, but protested weakly. Now that the water had cleared his head and calmed his stomach, he found himself dazed by his love, and needed a moment to gather himself. With several mouthful of water he swept away the nasty aftertaste lingering on his tongue. When Eragon began chanting "You threw up, you threw up!", Murtagh effectively silenced him with a kiss.

"I missed you so," Eragon whispered a moment later, his mood completely changed. "One month! It's been longer than ever before."

"I know, I'm sorry." They both held on to Thorn who was drifting lazily in the middle of the lake. "Didn't Brom tell you that-"

"He did," Eragon cut in. "But knowing that we can't meet for good reasons isn't much of a comfort."

"I know," Murtagh immediately agreed. _A life spent alone did not prepare me for all those nights of loneliness. _He waved for them to swim towards the shore, and even the dragons came along, wanting to get rid of their tack.

Once all four were naught but skin and scale, the dragons headed out again, flying and diving, enjoying each other. Eragon was watching them with his back to Murtagh – _his wonderful, battle-toned, beautiful back, and those perky cheeks... _Murtagh licked his lips.

"Let's go in again as well!" Eragon called and swayed his hips, thereby proving that he neither had to read minds nor needed eyes in the back of his head to know what Murtagh was thinking. He threw a look over his shoulder and the mischievous smile had returned. "I almost forgot… almost. You threw up! What a poor, poor Rider…" He sprinted into the water.

Murtagh barked out a laugh. "What? _What_?" As fast as his legs would carry him, he raced after the other. These days, however, they were an equal match.

Fortunately, Eragon stopped on his own after a while when the water was waist high. "It's the truth, isn't it?" he asked, laughing. "You must have the weakest stomach in the entire history of the Riders!" A hand crashed down on the surface of the lake, and a splash of water hit Murtagh in the face.

"Quiet!" he hollered. "Since when does a baby Rider mock an elder, eh?"

Eragon laughed some more. "I happened to know that you like men, not babies. Therefore, I must be a man."

Murtagh ground his teeth, even though he was facing the one person whose defiance he enjoyed very much. "_Fuck you_!" he cursed, repeating what he knew Eragon only used in times of high agitation.

From one instant to the next, Eragon's laughter died. Instead, his eyes clouded with lust and his mouth remained the smallest bit opened. "You want to fuck? Go ahead."

_Wha__t did I just say? _Murtagh was stunned into silence, but his body – hidden from sight – immediately reacted to the obvious message Eragon was sending out. "Uhm…"

"Go!" Eragon encouraged him, expression _again_ turning to impish.

"I… didn't I curse? What did I say?"

Eragon ignored him. "You don't want to? Or do you want _me_ to…?

_Huh?_ Murtagh was not sure what to make of the other suddenly approaching him so determinedly. "Would you please explain to me what I yelled at you? I hate jokes that I don't under-"

Completely unexpected, Eragon suddenly jumped at Murtagh, turning his surprised victim around and pressing his arousal against the older Rider's behind. "Fuck you is a curse," he explained, his voice trembling, but his hands firm on the other's hips. "But to fuck also means to have sex… and you didn't react. So now it is _my_ turn."

A stuttered chuckle broke from Murtagh's lips. _Where did the shy boy go to? _With all his might he pushed back and twisted to the side, escaping the tight grip for a brief moment. But the water slowed him down, and Eragon was more than resolute. Within moments, he was in control again. Murtagh stilled and forced his body to unclench. "You truly want me?" he asked, giving his voice a false curiosity.

"I do," Eragon agreed, kissing Murtagh's neck. His hands let go and instead caressed Murtagh's most private parts. "It's about time, don't you think."

_Don't you know when _not_ to trust me? _Murtagh thought amused. "Time?" he relaxed even more and opened up for Eragon's touch. "Truly, you're right. It _is_ time…" Fast as a lightening he whirled around, pulling Eragon's legs out from under him and pushing his shoulders back. Eragon yelled in protest and fought back, but was in a position of disadvantage. "… Time for you to understand who of us is in charge."

"Murtagh!" Eragon was both pouting and angry.

Murtagh chuckled, one hand expertly touching Eragon at his soft spots, killing some resistance. "Maybe these days you're fast as me…" He flicked his thumb over the head of Eragon's cock, drawing a moan. "Or strong as me…" His other hand let go of Eragon's shoulders and found its way down to the testicles, fondling them. "But never, never as bad as me. I tricked you, little one."

Eragon surrendered with a snigger. "I love you, bastard!"

"I love you, too!" Murtagh pushed the other's thighs apart and pulled Eragon onto his waist, gently entering him underwater.

Lost in each other's eyes, they became one.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

It had been Saphira pushing the tired, naked bodies on the sandy beach, so far Murtagh knew. What he was unsure about, however, was what had happened in the hours ever since. Now, it was late afternoon, and Eragon's hand lazily stroked over Murtagh's sandy stomach, his face on the other's chest. By the look of it, he had been awake some longer.

_D__id I sleep?_ Murtagh wondered. _Maybe I dreamt… _All he remembered was a time of bliss.

"Murtagh?"

"Hmm?"

"How long do you think we have to continue this? This hardly ever seeing each other?"

_A few hours, perhaps? _Murtagh's heart missed a beat. _If you only knew, my love. _"I don't know," he lied. "As you've seen, you and I isn't quite enough yet in the war." _And now you might be gone by tonight… _He blinked away a tear.

Eragon could not see Murtagh's face and was deceived by the calm voice. "Do you truly want the armies to decimate each other before we… I don't know… openly fight together? So many will die!"

"It wasn't our idea to ask for a major battle… or any battle at all, for that matter."

Eragon was silent for a while. "Why does the king never fight?"

Murtagh sighed. "Why should he? He has not yet seen the need to take a personal risk. It might change soon, however." _And if he sees what I'm really doing during battle, how I avoid killing… May the Gods be with me!_

Eragon's hand stopped moving. "When that happens, we can't wait any longer. Uru'baen is a fortress, but out in the open …"

_Oh, Eragon. My brave, brave Eragon!_ "One of us might not survive it. None might."

"I know," Eragon whispered, his voice tight. "I hate the war, Murtagh! All I want is a quiet life with you – and the dragons of course!"

Murtagh blinked. _Is that truly all? He didn't mention her…_ "I'm sorry I pulled you in. You shouldn't have to live a life like this." _But never will I be sorry for claiming you as mine!_

Eragon shook his head and gave him a sad smile. "It wasn't just you. Saphira played a major part as well, as did Brom, and my conscience. I can't sit by twiddling my thumbs while this world rushes towards chaos when I have a chance to make a difference." It was not the first time he said this.

"You make _the_ difference," Murtagh emphasized. "About everyone else would have run before it all started… What is that about Brom's part?"

"Well…" Eragon shifted to place a small kiss on Murtagh's cheek, which, to Murtagh, had the feeling of an apology. "You told me a lot about this world, remember? After Ellesméra? It made sense, of course, but one thing I already knew back then: you aren't exactly objective."

Murtagh smiled. "I tried to be!" he protested out of principle, knowing the truth nonetheless.

"I know, and I love you for it. But only with Brom's extensive accounts of all parties involved in this conflict, all their interests, all that is at stake… Only all that information made me really want to get engaged. It triggered the need to go and become active, better today than tomorrow."

Murtagh's smile had faded. "Brom isn't always objective, either."

Eragon slapped the stomach he had been stroking. "Stupid Murtagh! Am I a Varden at heart, or does my heart belong to you? Don't be… Are you jealous?"

"No! Not of Brom, of all people! Only of those that get to spend so much time with you."

Eragon smiled. "Oh, I understand what you mean. Sometimes I'm even jealous of Thorn!"

Murtagh ran a hand through the soft, slightly sandy hair. "Brom means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

Eragon only nodded.

"Like a father?"

Eragon rose from Murtagh's chest and sat up to have a better look at the other. "How would I know?" He shrugged. "I never had one, remember? But if I did… I would want him to be like Brom, that's true." He smiled. "Don't forget that he's the only human I can talk to about you and me – that alone means so much!"

"Good," Murtagh said, meaning it. _At least you have been able to build a somewhat normal life with all the people caring for you – and you caring back. Brom, Arya, Nasuada…_ Murtagh only had Eragon, and the thought of losing what had become his life was unbearable. Which turned his thoughts back to the original purpose of coming to Du Weldenvarden.

Out of nowhere Saphira was suddenly there as well, emerging from the lake like a creature from legend. She nudged Eragon ever so lightly and brought her tail up to wrap it tenderly around him. Her eyes, however, were locked with Murtagh's, and he could only imagine what the offer they had prepared cost her. He tried to mask his face behind an expression of reassurance but failed. This, not only Saphira saw, but Eragon as well.

"Enough!" the young Rider said. "Murtagh, you and Saphira have been odd all day long. A strange word here, a pained expression there… She won't tell me what's going on, though."

Murtagh exchanged another glance with the blue dragon, who nodded ever so slightly. "We haven't come here to go swimming, Eragon. Let's get dressed."

Not in the least satisfied with the answer, Eragon put on his clothes, shaking off Murtagh's hand when the older one wanted to rub Eragon's back clear of any sand. "Don't! I can't stand it if you treat me like a child!"

Murtagh sighed, or rather, tried to; his chest would not let in much air anymore. "I want to show you something in the woods," he produced a meager explanation, then gestured in the direction of the dragons. "It's a bit too far to walk, and they should be there, too."

Eragon hesitated, eyes darting back and forth between Murtagh and Saphira. Then the dragon seemed to say something and eventually he gave up and quietly saddled her.

They flew for perhaps an hour straight north. When the dragons descended, the sun was already low on the horizon, coloring the summer forest in gold. The air was still warm, charged somehow, and to Murtagh the world seemed indeed very magical at that moment. Or cursed.

The moment they landed Murtagh recognized the place, although he would have never guessed just how clear the memory had been. _And I thought he didn't mean a thing to me back then? _He snorted in response to the silent question.

Eragon stood at his side, clearly expecting for Murtagh to do something or lead him some last distance on foot. Then he took a closer look at Murtagh's face and his expression of expectancy changed to concern. "Murtagh? What is this?"

"…Forest," Murtagh said after a while, perfectly aware of how much of a coward's answer that was.

_Murtagh, _Saphira's pained voice resonated in his mind. _Murtagh_, she said again, putting all she meant into these two syllables.

_I know. _"Look around. Don't you remember?"

Eragon scanned his surroundings. "We might have travelled through this area, but then, what part of the elves' wood did we not travel through?" He shook his head.

Murtagh took a very deep breath. "Last time here, you were almost naked."

Immediately Eragon's eyes went wide. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing ever came out of it, so he closed it again. Almost automatically, he now looked at a tree close to Murtagh and raised a hand to point at it.

"Right," Murtagh confirmed. "This must have been the first tree you saw after coming around." He made a few steps and sat down, facing the tree in question. "Here you were lying, pressed to the ground by a large branch." At his right there was such a large branch, and Murtagh identified it to be what he was looking for. "Here," he said, knocking against it. "This is it."

Eragon came and fingered the wood. Despite his tan, his face was very pale and he was shivering. "Murtagh?" He turned around. "Saphira? Why did you bring me here?"

Murtagh only shook his head, but Eragon was not seeing it. His eyes were still on the blue dragon, who probably told him what she had told Murtagh already half a year earlier: she figured she could do it one last time, call upon the most powerful and untamable dragon magic one last time to bring Eragon back home. Murtagh loved and hated her at the same time for it.

"No!" Eragon yelled. "Saphira, no!" He swirled around again, eyes blazing with fury. "Murtagh! Why did you bring me here?"

Murtagh raised a hand in an effort to calm. "This is not your world," he said quietly. "You have a mother waiting for you."

Eragon shook his head. "I cannot believe you- Who do you think I am?"

"You still miss her," Murtagh said carefully. "Saphira says you still dream of her at times." Part of him loved how opposed Eragon was to the idea of returning, but he knew he should not be feeling like that.

Briefly Eragon glowered at his dragon once more. "And why did you bring me here _now_?" he asked Murtagh, not looking at him.

"Well…" Murtagh licked his lips. "When else would be a good time? And I have lied earlier. The king is in fact about to interfere in the war. It will get very dangerous for you and-"

From one instant to the next Murtagh found himself grabbed by strong hands and pushed against the nearest tree. "Murtagh!" the yell was back. "You brought me here for… for me to return home and leave you?"

Murtagh swallowed. "I can' let you die."

Suddenly Eragon only whispered. "But if I go back, we're as good as dead to each other. And _I_ cannot see _you_ dead, either!" Judging from the expression on his face, Saphira received a similar statement.

Again Murtagh swallowed, but this time it was the ever growing hope that he tried to get rid of. "Your mother?"

Eragon released Murtagh's vest. "To her, it is as if I already died a year ago," he said quietly, a look of distance in his eyes. "Of course I miss her still. She's my mother! But my dreams of her are full of love – not regret."

"Eragon…"

Eragon shook his head. "No. Her life has gone on, Murtagh. That's something mine wouldn't if I went back." A tear made its way down his cheek. "Stupid Murtagh! Stupid Saphira!"

Holding his breath, Murtagh asked, "You are staying?"

Eragon waved his dragon near and laid an arm over her lowered neck. Close to Saphira's ears but watching Murtagh he explained, "Where I am from, they say that home is where the heart is. Would the two of you please stop doubting where _my_ heart is?" He smiled faintly at his attempted light mood. When he glanced at the tree one last time, however, the smile faded. "Farewell," he whispered so quietly that it was nearly lost in the sounds of the woods. "Farewell!"

Wanting it or not, Murtagh's heart was dancing circles in his chest. "You're so strong," he said proudly. "Even when you're missing someone as dearly, you're so strong."

Eragon took a deep breath and the smile was back. His eyes were wet, but decided. "That is something I inherited from her. I know she has made it until now, and she _will_ live on. I'm with you now!"

Murtagh was afraid his chest would burst with happiness. "It'll be perilous," he protested at last, but all conviction had lost his voice. After all, he had not wanted Eragon to leave in the first place.

Eragon kissed his dragon on her brow before making his way over to Murtagh. "I _know_! We've been through this discussion already."

"Yes, true, but-"

"Murtagh! Shut up!" Possessively Eragon folded his hands behind Murtagh's neck and pulled him close. "My life! My decisions!"

Murtagh shook his head, smiling. "No. It's _my_ Eragon!" He closed the remaining inches for a tender kiss.


End file.
